FATHER  TABB 


FATHER  TABB 

His  Life  and  Work 

The  Poet-Priest  of  Virginia 

1845-1909 
'This  man's  life  made  him  worthy  of  a  monument. 


FATHER   TABB 


FATHER  TABB 

His  Life  and  Work 


A  Memorial  By 
HIS  NEICE 

JENNIE  MASTERS  TABB 

Introduction  By 
DR.  CHARLES  ALPHONSO  SMITH 

Naval  Academy,  Annapolis,  Maryland 


SECOND  EDITION 


1922 

THE  STRATFORD  COMPANY,  Publishers 
BOSTON,   MASSACHUSETTS 


Copyright,   1922 

Boston,   Mass. 

The  STRATFORD  CO.,  Publishers 


The  Alpine  Press,  Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


To  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  FATHER 
WILLIAM  BARKSDALE  TABB 


The  Elder  Brother,   under   whose   inspiration, 

guidance  and  instruction 

JOHN  BANNISTER  TABB 

Began  his  Literary  Career 


Introduction 

That  Father  Tabb  has  made  a  permanent  contri 
bution  to  poetic  thought  hardly  admits  of  question. 
A  few  months  ago  the  Oxford  University  Press  added 
to  its  well  known  Oxford  Garland  Series  a  volume 
called  Epigrams.  Only  two  Americans  were  admitted, 
Emerson  and  Father  Tabb.  More  than  these  two 
might  well,  I  think  have  been  included ;  but  the  omis 
sion  of  the  others  may  serve  to  remind  us  that  just  as 
American  novelists  have  created  few  characters  that 
may  be  called  world  citizens,  so  American  poets  have 
contributed  but  sparingly  to  the  treasure-house  of 
English  epigram.  The  reason  is  in  both  cases  the 
same :  it  is  not  so  much  a  lack  of  leisure  as  inability  to 
use  leisure. 

Father  Tabb  had  the  leisure  and  the  ability  to  use 
it  constructively.  He  had  also  a  concentric  lyric 
genius  without  parallel  in  American  literature.  His 
thought  does  not  move  forward  in  leaps ;  it  turns  in 
on  itself  and  seeks  truth  at  the  centre  rather  than  on 
the  circumference.  It  is  circular  rather  than  linear. 
Scientists  have  found  a  new  sphere  of  activity  in  the 
attempt  to ''isolate  the  germ"  of  threatening  diseases. 
To  isolate  is  to  conquer.  Father  Tabb's  laboratory 
was  poetical,  not  scientific.  To  it  came  moods  and 
fancies,  hints  and  shadows,  joys  and  pains,  hopes  and 
high  resolves.  To  get  at  the  heart  of  each,  to  isolate 


491090 


INTRODUCTION 

the  germ,  was  the  special  task  and  the  unique  privi 
lege  of  his  life. 

His  work  has  been  called  that  of  a  lapidary,  but 
there  is  a  difference.  The  products  of  the  lapidary's 
skill  have  a  certain  hard  finality.  Their  boundary  and 
content  are  fixed  and  unyielding.  The  lapidary's 
work,  like  the  multiplication  table,  means  the  same  to 
you  and  to  me,  to  this  age  and  to  coming  ages.  But 
Father  Tabb's  best  quatrains  are  not  mere  quests  for 
the  mot  juste,  the  one  inevitable  word  or  set  of  words. 
The  boundaries  that  he  puts  about  his  thoughts  are 
definite  but  elastic.  His  quatrains  are  emancipations 
rather  than  confinements  of  thought.  They  are 
achievements  not  merely  in  condensation  but  in  con 
densation  plus  illumination.  There  is  an  aureole  of 
suggestiveness  about  them  that  we  do  not  find,  for 
example,  in  the  lines  of  Pope,  though  in  the  accepted 
sense  Pope  was  the  greatest  master  of  epigram  that 
the  English  race  has  produced. 

Ring  one  of  Pope 's  coins  on  the  table  and  compare 
its  resonance  with  that  of  these  lines : 

"0  little  bird,  I'd  be 
A  poet  like  to  thee; 
Singing  my  native  song, 
Short  to  the  ear,  but  long 
To  love  and  memory." 

There  is  perfection  of  phrasing  here  but  no  funereal 
finality.  The  thought  receives  a  certain  urge  and  e"lan 

ii 


INTRODUCTION 

in  the  very  moment  of  its  embodiment.  Father  Tabb's 
appeal,  therefore,  evinces  its  distinctive  excellence  in 
its  varying  challenge  to  varying  personalities.  The 
lines  called  Discrepancy — 

"One  dream  the  bird  and  blossoms  dreamed 

Of  Love,  the  whole  night  long ; 
Yet  twain  its  revelation  seemed, 
In  fragrance  and  in  song" 

will  appeal  differently  to  the  scientist,  the  sociologist, 
the  literateur,  the  historian;  but,  however  varying, 
the  compression  and  glow  of  the  thought  are  such 
that  the  appeal  will  be  none  the  less  vital,  direct, 
and  inescapable. 

Browning  enters  Father  Tabb's  realm  when  he 
writes : 

"All  the  breath  and  the  bloom  of  the  year  in 

the  bag  of  one  bee  : 
All  the  wonder  and  wealth  of  the  mine  in 

the  heart  of  one  gem: 
In  the  core  of  one  pearl  all  the  shade 

and  the  shine  of  the  sea." 

These  great  lines  form  a  sort  of  text  to  Father 
Tabb  's  life  work.  They  mark  out  his  goal.  But  what 
the  English  poet  has  announced  as  a  principle  the 
American  poet  has  developed  and  illustrated  in 
stanzas  of  unexampled  beauty  and  fidelity. 

The  present  volume  will,  I  am  sure,  add  appreciably 
to  the  range  of  Father  Tabb's  service,  for  it  is  in  a 

iii 


INTRODUCTION 

very  real  sense  the  biography  of  his  mind.  It  will  not 
only  multiply  the  number  of  his  readers  but  deepen 
in  them  the  conviction  that  the  holiness  of  beauty  and 
the  beauty  of  holiness  find  fitting  exemplars  in  the 
lines  and  in  the  life  of  the  poet-priest  of  Virginia. 

C.  ALPHONZO  SMITH 
University  of  Virginia,  June  2,  1916 


iv 


Foreword 

In  the  planning  of  this  volume  a  two-fold  object 
was  borne  in  mind  —  that  of  doing  honor  to  one 
whom  Virginia  is  proud  to  call  her  son,  and  that  of 
bringing  to  his  many  friends  and  admirers  those  little 
personal  touches  which  will  make  him  live  again  in 
their  hearts. 

So  many-sided  was  his  genius  —  Poet,  Priest,  Mu 
sician,  Artist,  Teacher,  Friend — so  filled  was  he  with 
the  spirit  of  mirth  and  with  profound  sympathy,  with 
the  joy  of  childhood  and  the  sorrows  of  old  age,  that 
he  ran  the  gamut  of  human  emotions,  and  while  our 
hearts  are  touched  by  the  deep  pathos  of  his  "songs 
from  the  dark"  and  our  own  eyes  become  dim  with 
tears,  those  same  tears  ere  they  fall  will  catch  a  sun 
beam  from  his  mirth  in  some  sparkling  quatrain. 

The  sources  of  my  information  concerning  Father 
Tabb  have  been  varied  :his  brother-priests,  his  friends, 
his  pupils,  his  relatives,  his  own  works,  all  have  con 
tributed  to  this  little  volume.  Of  his  letters  I  have 
published  none.  He  was  known  as  the  "poet  of  short 
metre"  and  might  also  have  been  called  the  cor 
respondent  of  telegraphic  brevity.  He  confined  him 
self  largely  to  limericks  and  quatrains  on  post  cards, 
and  short  squib  of  notes;  and  disliked  the  thought 
that  any  of  his  personal  letters  should  be  given  to  the 
public.  Therefore,  I  offer  nothing  from  his  pen  except 


FOREWORD 

such  of  his  published  works  as  will  give  an  insight 
into  what  his  biographer,  Dr.  William  Hand  Browne, 
calls  "his  sweet  and  delicate  nature." 

It  is  hard  to  portray  a  character  so  varied,  hard  not 
to  emphasize  one  trait  to  the  neglect  of  another  of 
equal  importance,  but  the  readers  of  this  tribute  who 
knew  him  will  realize  the  complexity  of  the  task,  and 
those  who  did  not  know  him  are  urged  to  find  him 
in  his  works  —  to  see  in  his  writings  the  delicacy, 
sweetness,  charm,  strength  and  lovableness  of  the 
man. 

JENNIE  MASTERS  TABB 
Farmville,  Virginia,  1920 


Ti 


Acknowledgment 


I  beg  to  make  grateful  acknowledgment  of  the 
invaluable  assistance  rendered  me  by  many  friends, 
chief  among  the  number  being:  Mr.  James  M.  Grainger 
of  the  State  Normal  School,  Farmville ;  Dr.  Charles 
Alphonso  Smith  of  the  Naval  Academy,  Annapolis, 
Md. ;  Dr.  J.  C.  Metcalf  of  the  University  of  Virginia ; 
Right  Reverend  D.  J.  O'Connell,  Bishop  of  Richmond; 
His  Eminence,  Cardinal  Gibbons;  F.  Jos.  Magri,  D.D., 
of  St.  Paul's  Church,  Portsmouth;  President  M.  F. 
Dinneen,  D.D.,  of  St.  Charles  College,  Catonsville, 
Md.;  Rev.  Lucien  Johnston  of  St.  Thomas  Church, 
Baltimore ;  Rev.  Thomas  A.  Rankin  of  Charlottesville ; 
Mr.  Edwin  Litchfield  Turnbull  of  Baltimore ;  Rev.  T. 
E.  McGuigan  of  St.  Patrick's  Church,  Washington; 
Dr.  Thomas  McCarthy  of  the  Catholic  University, 
Washington ;  Mr.  James  H.  Harvie  and  the  late 
James  C.  Martin  of  Richmond ;  Miss  Estelle  Smithey 
of  the  State  Normal  School,  Farmville;  Mrs.  Mary 
Day  Lanier  of  Greenwich,  Conn.;  and  Sister  Mary 
Paulina  (M.  S.  Pine)  of  the  Georgetown  Visitation 
Convent,  Washington. 

I  also  acknowledge  with  much  gratitude  the  kindly 
permission  granted  me  by  Messrs.  Small,  Maynard 
and  Company  of  Boston;  John  Lane  Company  of 
New  York;  and  Mitchell  Kennerley  of  New  York 
(Father  Tabb's  publishers)  to  quote  from  his  works. 

vii 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

The  help  received  from  the  above  mentioned 
sources  cannot  be  measured ;  not  the  facts  in  the  life 
of  Father  Tabb  which  they  have  given  me,  not  kindly 
assistance  in  referring  me  to  others  who  could  give 
the  information  I  sought,  have  been  the  great  help 
in  the  preparation  of  this  little  volume  —  but  the 
genuine  sympathy  in  the  work,  the  enthusiastic 
interest  that  has  been  shown,  the  kind  encouragement 
which  I  have  received  from  all  sides,  have  made 
it  a  pleasure  indeed. 


Vlll 


List  of  Illustrations 

Frontispiece,  Portrait  of  Father  Tabb. 

John  B.  Tabb  at  the  age  of  ten. 

"The  Melody  from  Sidney  Lanier's  Flute.7' 

His  Eminence,  Cardinal  Gibbons,  who,  in  one  day, 
baptized  and  confirmed  Father  Tabb  and  later 
admitted  him  to  Holy  Orders. 

St.  Peter's  Church,  Richmond,  Va. 

Interior  of  St.  Peter's  Church,  Richmond,  Va. 

Cartoon  autograph  likeness  of  Father  Tabb. 

Facsimile  of  autograph  verse  written  by  Father  Tabb 
for  the  Westmoreland  Club  of  Richmond,  Va. 

The  Old  St.  Charles  College,  burned  in  1911. 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    Genealogy 1 

n     Childhood  and  Early  Life      ...  7 

m    The  Young  Soldier 14 

iv    Early  Manhood  and  Conversion  to  the 

Catholic  Faith 22 

v    The  Teacher 26 

vi    Outside  the  Class-room  ....  40 

vn    The  Musician 52 

vm    The  Writer  of  Child  Verse  ...  58 

ix    Tabb  and  Lanier 66 

x    The  Poet 73 

xi    The  Priest 123 

xn    Twilight ,139 

xm    The  End  .  145 


CHAPTER  I 
GENEALOGY 

Since  the  days  of  Adam  the  history  of  man  has 
begun  with  a  statement  of  his  genealogy.  In  these 
modern  times  of  advanced  thought  the  vision  of  men 
and  of  women  is  forward  rather  than  backward,  the 
prime  thought  is  for  the  future  of  the  race,  the  de 
scendant  overshadows  the  ancestor,  and  the  slogan  of 
the  age  is  Develop  the  Individual.  In  this  day  it 
is  strange  that  anyone  should  care  for  a  family  tree 
or  a  coat  of  arms,  yet  family  trees  are  as  deep-rooted 
and  as  wide-branched  as  ever  and  coats  of  arms  adorn 
American  walls  and  are  pointed  out  with  pride. 

In  this  age  men  make  a  living  by  hunting  out  an 
cestors  who  have  been  allowed  to  sink  into  oblivion 
and  whose  descendants  have  kept  alive  no  family 
traditions;  the  only  value  attached  to  these  an 
cestors  when  discovered  and  indubitably  established 
as  forbears  direct  is  that  their  names  act  as  an  "open 
sesame"  to  some  coveted  membership  in  an  or 
ganization  almost  as  old  as  the  country  itself. 

Although  the  above  conditions  do  exist  in  our  day 
and  are  (justly)  the  target  for  many  an  arrow  of 
wit  and  of  sarcasm,  there  are  many  of  the  "old 


FATHER  TABB 

families''  who  can  not  only  produce  a  grandfather 
on  this  side,  but  who  have  the  family  line  unbroken 
from  the  parent-stock  in  Old  England  or  in  Bonny 
Scotland.  Of  such  a  line  was  the  poet-priest,  John 
Bannister  Tabb. 


In  the  dawn  of  our  Colonial  life,  when  the  early 
rays  of  the  sun  of  civilization  were  just  beginning 
to  tinge  the  eastern  shores  of  our  Old  Dominion, 
there  set  sail  from  a  port  of  England  one  Humphrey 
Tabb  and  his  wife  Joanna.  Arriving  in  the  new 
country  with  its  virgin  soil,  its  unbroken  forests  and 
trackless  plains,  they  made  their  home  on  a  tract 
of  fifty  acres  of  land  on  Harris  Creek  in  Elizabeth 
City  County.  In  1652  Humphrey  Tabb  was  Burgess 
of  Elizabeth  City  County.  He  died  about  ten  years 
after  that  date,  leaving  to  his  only  child,  Thomas, 
about  two  thousand  acres  of  land  in  Elizabeth  City 
and  Northumberland  Counties. 

Humphrey  Tabb  was  succeeded  by  his  son  Thomas, 
and  he  in  turn  by  his  son  John. 

The  first  of  the  name  found  in  Amelia  County  is 
the  great-grandson  of  Humphrey  and  Joanna  Tabb, 
Colonel  Thomas  Tabb  of  ' '  Clayhill, ' '  who  was  rated 
as  one  of  the  richest  merchants  in  Virginia.  An  in 
teresting  item  in  his  will,  dated  December  28,  1769,  is 
a  legacy  of  sixty  pounds  to  one  Nancy  Booker  to  be 
laid  out  in  the  purchase  of  a  negro  girl,  and  fifteen 
pounds  to  buy  mourning. 


GENEALOGY 

John  Tabb  of  Amelia,  son  of  Colonel  Thomas  Tabb, 
was  Burgess,  member  of  the  Committee  of  Safety, 
etc.,  and  was  married,  February  17,  1770,  to  Frances 
Peyton  of  Gloucester  County. 

A  decade  or  so  after  the  arrival  in  this  country 
of  Humphrey  and  Joanna  Tabb,  Major  Robert 
Peyton  of  Rougham,  County  Norfolk,  England,  son  of 
Thomas  and  Elizabeth  (Yelverton)  Peyton  (daughter 
of  Sir  William  Yelverton  of  Rougham,  County  Nor 
folk,  and  his  wife,  Ursula,  daughter  of  Thomas, 
Lord  Richardson)  came  to  Virginia.  He  named  his 
estate  "Iselham"  for  the  Peyton  estate  in  Cam 
bridgeshire,  England.  He  was  an  attorney  by  pro 
fession  but  in  1680  was  appointed  major  of  the 
Gloucester  County  militia. 

Among  the  manuscripts  in  the  College  of  Arms, 
London,  are  notes  that  Robert  Peyton  was  living  in 
Virginia  as  late  as  1693  and  these  reports  show  him 
as  "sine  posteritate" — his  children  were  born  in 
Virginia  and  not  reported  in  England. 

Thomas  Peyton,  eldest  son  of  Sir  Robert  Peyton, 
born  in  Virginia  in  1675,  married  in  1700,  Frances 
Tabb,  daughter  of  John  Tabb,  "Church  Warden  of 
North  River  Parish." 

From  the  time  of  this  first  marriage  of  a  Peyton 
and  a  Tabb  down  to  the  present  day  the  families  have 
so  intermarried  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  trace 
them  separately. 

Upon  the  death  of  Sir  John  Peyton  of  Iselham, 
Cambridgeshire,  England,  in  1721,  John,  the  son  of 

[3] 


FATHER  TABB 

Thomas  and  Frances  (Tabb)  Peyton,  became  the 
lawful  heir  to  the  baronetcy.  In  the  Kingston 
Parish  Kegister  his  children  are  recorded  from  Eliza 
beth,  born  in  1756,  to  Henry  Yelvertori,  Born  in  1770, 
as  1 1  Children  of  Sir  John  and  Frances  Peyton. ' ' 

His  claim  to  the  title  was  also  recognized  in  Vir 
ginia.  In  the  old  Church  Register  it  is  noted  that 
"Sir  John  Peyton  and  Thomas  Smith,  Jr.,  Gent., 
were  appointed  deputies  to  meet  clergymen  and  ves 
tries  in  convention  to  regulate  all  the  religious  con 
cerns  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  —  its  doc 
trines,  worship,  etc."  Sir  John  Peyton  was  lieu 
tenant-colonel  of  Gloucester  County  from  1775  to 
1782. 

The  second  daughter  of  Sir  John  Peyton  was  Fran 
ces,  who  married  John  Tabb  of  * '  Clayhill ' '  in  Amelia 
County,  a  notice  of  whose  death  appeared  as  follows 
in  the  Richmond  Enquirer  of  April  25,  1828 : 

"Died,  at  'Clayhill/  her  seat  in  Amelia  County, 
Virginia,  on  the  12th  of  April,  1828,  Mrs.  Frances 
Tabb,  relict  of  the  late  John  Tabb,  a  daughter  of  the 
late  Sir  John  Peyton  of  Iselham  in  the  County  of 
Gloucester,  baronet,  lineally  descended  from  the 
Peytons  of  Iselham  in  Cambridgeshire,  England.  By 
the  death  of  his  son  John  Peyton  (a  younger  brother 
of  Mrs.  Tabb)  this  ancient  baronetcy  became  ex 
tinct.  As  he  never  assumed  the  title  after  his  father's 
death,  it  was  claimed  and  held  by  persons  in  England 
not  entitled  to  it  under  a  false  allegation  in  Debrett's 
'Baronetage'  that  Sir  John  Peyton  who  emigrated 

[4] 


GENEALOGY 

to  Virginia  during  the  civil  wars  in  England  left  no 
male  heirs."* 

This  notice  in  The  Enquirer  was  taken  from  an 
obituary  of  Mrs.  Tabb  written  by  the  celebrated 
John  Randolph  of  Roanoke,  an  intimate  friend  of 
the  family. 

John  Tabb  died  about  1798,  his  personal  estate 
being  reckoned  at  £31,879,  4s,  3%d.  His  children 

*The  rest  of  the  obituary  is  as  follows: — 

"Beautiful  in  person,  affable,  graceful  and  accom 
plished  in  manner,  endowed  with  wealth  unexampled 
in  that  quarter  of  the  country,  with  a  strength  of 
character  beyond  her  sex,  no  woman  ever  fulfilled  the 
duties  of  wife,  mother,  or  mistress  of  a  family  with 
more  fidelity  and  zeal  than  Mrs.  Tabb.  Her  munifi 
cence  was  princely,  rather  than  that  of  a  private  per 
son  in  our  country.  Her  virtues  were  strictly  do 
mestic.  Intent  on  promoting  the  welfare  of  others, 
utterly  regardless  of  self,  she  was  found  occupied  in 
some  household  labor  or  some  work  of  love,  minis 
tering  to  the  sick,  whether  among  her  descendants, 
her  guests,  her  neighbors,  or  her  slaves.  Her  hospi 
tality  was  boundless,  her  benevolence  without  a 
parallel.  The  generosity  of  her  character  has  never 
been  exceeded,  her  fortitude  and  presence  of  mind 
never  surpassed. 

"This  is  no  vulgar  eulogium  of  a  descendant  of  a 
legatee,  it  is  the  unbiased  and  unbought  offering  of 
one  who  was  long  honored  with  her  friendship,  to 
whom  for  more  than  forty  years  she  was  an  object  of 
respect  approaching  to  reverence,  who  loved  her  liv 
ing  and  laments  her  dead. 

"The  following  anecdote  will  serve  to  show  that 
the  writer  has  not  been  drawing  on  his  imagination 
for  these  traits  of  character.  Between  midnight  and 
dawn  Mrs.  Tabb  was  aroused  by  a  tremendous  noise 
in  her  dining  room.  Instead  of  indulging  in  female 
terrors,  she  rose  from  her  bed,  took  a  candle  in  her 
hand  and  proceeded  along  to  the  room  from  whence 
the  noise  came.  She  found  the  whole  plastering  of 
the  ceiling  had  tumbled  to  the  floor.  She  told  the 
writer  of  these  lines  that  she  thought  it  was  some 
thief  or  thieves,  whose  object  was  to  break  into  the 
large  pantry  adjoining,  where  liquors,  plate,  etc., 
were  kept,  and  was  sure,  she  said,  that  as  soon  as 
they  saw  me  they  would  run.  Yet  there  was  nothing 
masculine  in  her  person  or  manners.  No  fine  lady 
could  be  more  delicate  than  this  fine  woman." 

Written  April,1828,  by  John  Randolph  of  Roanoke. 

[5] 


FATHER  TABB 

were  as  follows:  Martha  Peyton  who  married,  in 
1797,  William  B.  Giles,  U.  S.  Senator  and  afterwards 
Governor  of  Virginia;  Frances  Cook  who  married 
in  1801,  Dr.  John  R.  Archer;  Mary,  who  married 
Bathurst  Randolph;  Thomas  and  John  Yelverton 
(both  students  at  William  and  Mary  College)  ; 
Signiora,  who  married  Theodorick  Bland  Ban 
nister;  Harriet  (died  in  infancy);  Mary  Ann  who 
married,  in  1815,  William  I.  Barksdale  of  Richmond 
—  their  daughter  Harried  married  Hon.  John  Y. 
Mason. 

John  Yelverton  Tabb  had  only  two  children: 
Harriet  who  married  Robert  C.  Jones  of  Gloucester 
County ;  and  Thomas  Yelverton  Tabb. 

Thomas  Yelverton  Tabb  married  his  first  cousin, 
Marianna  Bertrand  Archer  (daughter  of  Dr.  John 
R.  Archer)  and  had  the  following  children:  Harriet 
Peyton,  William  Barksdale,  John  Bannister  (after 
wards  the  poet-priest)  and  Thomas  Yelverton  Tabb. 


[6] 


CHAPTER  II 
CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  LIFE 

John  Bannister  Tabb  was  born  March  22,  1845, 
at  "The  Forest,"  in  Amelia  County,  Virginia,  about 
thirty  miles  from  the  capital  city  of  Richmond.  This 
was  the  home  of  his  maternal  grandfather,  Dr.  Archer. 
Not  long  after  his  birth  his  father  moved  to  the 
adjoining  plantation  "Cassels"  where  the  family 
resided  until  the  death  of  Dr.  Archer.  They  then 
returned  to  "The  Forest." 

John  Tabb's  early  years  were  passed  under  the 
spell  of  the  Old  Virginia  regime.  His  life  was  that 
of  the  Southern  child  on  the  plantation:  in  the  com 
panionship  of  his  sister  and  brothers;  in  the  loving 
care  of  a  father  who  had  ample  time  to  devote  to 
the  development  and  welfare  of  his  children;  under 
the  gentle  influence  of  a  mother  "strong,  tender, 
and  beautiful  in  character,  an  honor  to  the  sunny 
Southland  which  has  given  to  our  country  such  noble 
types  of  womanhood."  His  second  volume  of  Lyrics 
is  dedicated 

' '  To  the  Memory  of  My  Mother 

THE  COWSLIP 

It  brings  my  mother  back  to  me, 
Thy  frail,  familiar  form  to  see, 

[7] 


FATHER  TABB 

Which  was  her  homely  joy; 
And  strange  that  one  so  weak  as  thou 
Shouldst  lift  the  veil  that  sunders  now 

The  mother  amd  her  boy/' 

And  among  the  influences  surrounding  his  child 
hood,  not  the  least  was  that  of  a  doting  negro  Mammy 
who  instilled  into  her  "white  chillun"  the  song  and 
story  and  simple  faith  of  her  race.  Father  Tabb 
used  to  tell  with  delight  that  his  Mammy  proudly 
exhibited  him  as  "the  ugliest  baby  ever  born  in 
Virginia."  And  only  a  few  months  before  his  death 
he  refers  to  her  in  one  of  the  pathetic  little  poems 
written  in  his  blindness: 

"MAMMY" 

"I  love  her  countenance  whereon 

Despite  the  longest  day, 
The  tenderness  of  visions  gone 

In  shadows  seemed  to  stay. 
And  now,  when  faithless  sight  is  fled 

Beyond  my  waking  gaze, 
Of  darkness  I  am  not  afraid  • — 

It  is  my  Mammy's  face." 

At  the  time  of  her  death  he  wrote  on  the  fly-leaf 
of  one  of  his  own  volumes : 

"To  Jinny,  whose  faithful  service  to  our  house 
hold  ended  only  with  her  life : 

To  her,  0  Tenderness  Divine, 
Be  Thou,  as  she  to  me  and  mine!" 

[8] 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  LIFE 

Reared  in  the  atmosphere  of  luxury  and  ease  of 
the  Old  South,  with  his  own  servants  from  his  baby 
hood,  he  came  under  all  the  gentle  influences  of  a 
home  sheltered  from  contact  with  anything  but  the 
grace  and  chivalry  of  the  best  of  his  race.  He  was 
proud  of  the  fact  that  he  learned  to  read  and  write 
at  his  mother's  knee,  where  he  learned  his  prayers. 
Later,  his  education  was  in  the  hands  of  a  tutor,  a 
Mr.  Thomas  Hood,  who  was  for  years  an  inmate  of 
the  Tabb  home  where  he  taught  the  children  of  this 
and  several  other  families  of  the  neighborhood. 

An  eminent  writer  of  the  day,  in  a  biographical 
sketch  of  Father  Tabb,  says:  "His  boyhood,  I 
think,  .must  have  been  spent  with  nature  and  with 
his  own  thoughts  —  beautiful  hidden  dreams  and 
longings  which  no  one,  perhaps  not  even  his  mother, 
suspected."  How  different  from  this  picture  of 
the  child-dreamer  is  the  reality ! 

Mr.  James  B.  Harvie  of  Richmond,  Virginia,  a 
cousin,  gives  an  interesting  sketch  of  the  home  life 
and  early  years  of  the  poet ;  in  a  recent  letter  to  the 
writer  he  says : 

"The  first  school  I  ever  attended  was  "Cassels" 
(adjoining  "The  Forest")  your  dear  grandfather's 
and  grandmother's  lovely  home,  rendered  particu 
larly  attractive  by  their  charming  personality;  we 
boys  were  especially  attracted  to  them  by  daily  kind- 

[9] 


FATHER  TABS 

nesses.  Your  father,  Colonel  William  B.  Tabb,  was 
at  that  time  a  cadet  at  the  Virginia  Military  Insti 
tute.  While  at  that  school  he  came  home  on  a  fur 
lough  and  I  remember  how  straight  he  was  and  what 
a  graceful  figure  he  had  —  we  boys  thought  him  the 
handsomest  fellow  we  had  ever  seen.  I  never  saw 
him  very  often  after  that  time  as  he  not  long  after 
wards  entered  the  army  and  was  soon  made  Colonel 
of  the  fifty-ninth  Regiment.  I  have  heard  Colonel 
Fortune  Mosby,  the  Major  of  that  Regiment,  say  that 
Colonel  Tabb  was  a  most  gallant  man  and  one  of  the 
best  officers  of  his  rank  in  our  army. 

"Your  uncle,  'Johnny/  as  we  called  him,  was  one 
of  the  most  joyous,  rollicking,  loving,  and  trifling 
boys  I  ever  went  to  school  with.  I  don't  think  he 
ever  studied  his  lessons  a  minute,  and  consequently, 
Mr.  Hood  had  to  chastise  him  frequently.  At  that 
period  every  one  of  us  hated  Mr.  Hood  because  he  was 
a  Yankee  and  talked  through  his  nose,  and  we  wor 
ried  him  sadly  on  many  occasions — but  he  was 
really  a  noble  man  and  we  all  (especially  Johnny) 
admired  him  very  much  when  he  enlisted  in  our  army 
and  died  a  soldier's  death. 

"I  have  seen  Mr.  Hood  whip  your  uncle  Yelverton 
and  he  never  whimpered  but  when  Johnny  was 
whipped,  Yelverton  yelled  louder  than  he  did;  he 
said  it  did  not  hurt  him  like  it  did  to  see  his  brother 
punished. 

"Your  uncle  John  was  by  far  the  most  popular 
boy  in  the  school  as  well  as  in  the  county  —  always 

[10] 


JOHN  BAXXISTER  TABB  AT  THE  AGE  OF  TEX 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  LIFE 

making  fun  for  the  boys  and  girls  and  for  the  older 
people  as  well.  He  was  especially  gifted  as  a  car 
toonist,  and  in  a  minute  could  draw  a  ludicrous 
likeness  of  any  one,  especially  of  my  dear  father, 
Dr.  Harvie,  who  was  one  of  his  special  cronies.  I 
have  heard  Father  threaten  to  box  his  ears  for  his 
impudence  —  he  would  get  mad  as  a  hornet,  and  the 
next  minute  be  convulsed  when  Johnny  would  show 
him  a  caricature  of  some  other  valued  friend.'' 

John  Tabb  was  a  punster  from  his  cradle:  when 
he  and  his  brother  Yelverton  were  about  twelve  a'nd 
ten  years  old,  Yelverton  wrote  a  love  letter  to  one 
of  his  little  schoolmates  and  (for  safe  keeping  until 
it  could  be  delivered)  hid  it  in  Johnny's  book  of 
piano  exercises.  Of  course  Johnny  found  it,  read  it, 
and  being  an  inveterate  tease,  told  of  it  in  Yelver 
ton 's  presence.  When  the  latter  angrily  denounced 
him  for  reading  a  note  not  intended  for  him,  Johnny 
smilingly  replied :  "I  have  a  right  to  read  any  ' note ' 
found  in  my  exercise  book!" 

The  accompanying  likeness  of  John  Tabb  in  his 
tenth  year  was  the  work  of  a  traveling  artist  who 
stopped  at  "The  Forest;"  the  old  daguerreotype  was 
taken,  not  with  any  idea  of  preserving  the  childish 
features  of  the  future  poet-priest,  but  to  get  a  pic 
ture  of  old  Carlo,  William  Tabb's  favorite  hunting 
dog. 

When  the  photograph  was  to  be  taken  little 
Johnny  requested  that  he  be  allowed  to  hold  Carlo. 
He  was  particularly  devoted  to  his  brother  William 


FATHER  TABB 

and  felt  all  a  small  boy's  pride  and  interest  in  any 
thing  that  concerned  him,  and  so  intent  was  he  on 
getting  a  good  picture  of  the  dog  that  an  excellent 
likeness  of  both  dog  and  boy  was  obtained. 

Very  early  in  his  boyhood  John  Tabb  showed  great 
musical  and  artistic  talent  and  it  is  strange  to  note 
that  his  genius  as  a  writer  was  much  later  in  its  de 
velopment  ;  not  until  after  he  had  passed  his  twenty- 
fifth  year  did  he  begin  to  give  any  indication  of  the 
marvelous  powers  he  possessed.  His  vivid  imagina 
tion,  his  passionate  love  of  the  beautiful  in  nature, 
in  art  and  in  music,  his  keen  wit  and  sparkling 
humor  were  universally  acknowledged  by  his  friends 
and  associates,  but  his  desire  to  give  the  public  the 
benefit  of  his  visions  and  his  unique  interpretations, 
lay  dormant  through  his  youthful  years.  In  the 
early  days  of  his  literary  career  his  brother  William 
was  his  editor  as  well  as  his  inspiration  and  his 
guide;  this  brother  was  noted  for  the  beauty  and 
purity  of  his  English  —  it  was  said  that  he  was  the 
only  member  of  the  Charleston,  West  Virginia,  bar 
whose  extempore  speeches  could  be  printed  verbatim. 

When  John  Tabb  was  but  a  little  child,  so  great 
was  his  love  for  music  and  so  unusual  his  talent  in 
this  direction  that  it  was  expected  he  would  make 
it  his  life-work.  A  great  deal  of  his  early  instruction 
he  received  from  Mrs.  Judith  Blair  of  Lexington, 
Virginia,  who  (although  not  a  relative)  was  af 
fectionately  known  as  "Aunt  Judith. "  When  only 
a  boy  he  spent  from  six  to  eight  hours  daily  in 

[12] 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  LIFE 

piano  practice  and  even  in  the  evening  of  life, 
when  his  light  was  turned  to  darkness,  this  gift  re 
mained  with  him.  At  the  time  of  his  death,  in  his 
sixty-fifth  year,  a  friend  spoke  of  him  as  follows: 
"A  brilliant  performer  on  the  piano,  his  taste  in 
clined  much  to  minor  chords  and  musical  reverie 
that  caused  the  listening  students  to  first  pay 
breathless  attention  and  then  to  steal  noiselessly  away, 
leaving  the  old  musician  alone  with  his  melody  and 
his  memories/' 


[13] 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  YOUNG  SOLDIER 

Young  Tabb  was  only  sixteen  years  old  at  the  be 
ginning  of  the  War  between  the  States  —  the  three 
brothers  responded  to  their  country's  call:  the  eldest, 
William,  was,  at  the  age  of  twenty-two,  Colonel 
of  the  Fifty-ninth  Virginia  Infantry  with  young  Yel- 
verton,  only  fourteen  years  old,  a  private  in  his 
Regiment;  and  it  may  be  noted  here  that  the  boy 
served  for  the  four  long  years  of  the  struggle  with 
out  a  furlough. 

From  childhood  John  Tabb  was  troubled  with 
weak  eyes;  in  his  twelfth  year  an  oculist  examined 
them  and  found  a  defect  which  science  could  not 
remedy,  and  for  several  years  his  tutor  did  most  of  his 
reading  for  him.  On  account  of  defective  sight  he  was 
debarred  from  military  service,  so  he  entered  the  navy 
as  Captain's  Clerk  on  the  Confederate  States  Steamer, 
"Robert  E.  Lee"  which,  under  the  command  of  his 
cousin,  the  gallant  Captain  John  Wilkinson,  ran  the 
blocade  at  Wilmington,  North  Carolina,  twenty-one 
times. 

On  the  first  voyage  a  Major  Price  died  of  yellow 
fever  and  his  body  lay  on  deck  as  the  "Robert  E. 

['4] 


THE  YOUNG  SOLDIER 

Lee"  drew  near  San  Salvador.    Years  later  Father 
Tabb  referred  to  the  incident  in  the  poem 

"OFF  SAN  SALVADOR " 

"It  lay  to  westward  —  as  of  old 
An  emerald  bar  across  the  gold 
Of  sunset,  where  a  vision  grand 
First  beckoned  to  the  stranger 's  land. 
And  on  our  deck,  uncoffined,  lay 
A  child,  whose  spirit  far  away 
The  wafture  of  an  angel  hand 
Late  welcomed  to  a  stranger  land." 

In  speaking  of  this  incident  to  a  friend,  Keverend 
Joseph  A.  Perrig,  Father  Tabb  explained  that  the 
"uncoffined  child"  referred  to  was  the  late  Major 
Price  and  that  as  he  saw  the  beautiful  sunset  off 
San  Salvador,  he  could  not  help  imagining  the  dead 
man  as  seeing  the  light  of  Our  Saviour.  Father 
Perrig  said:  "When  he  read  his  poem  to  me  I 
asked  'Were  you  a  poet  then?  i.  e.,  did  you  write 
poetry?  'No,'  he  said,  'the  poetry  I  felt  indeed,  but 
could  not  give  expression  to  it!" 

Another  incident  in  his  life  as  blockade  runner  on 
the  "Robert  E.  Lee"  is  commemorated  in  the  poem: 

"THE  LOST  ANCHOR" 

Ah,  sweet  it  was  to  feel  the  strain, 
What  time,  unseen,  the  ship  above 

['5] 


FATHER  TABB 

Stood  steadfast  to  the  storm  that  strove 
To  rend  our  kindred  cords  atwain; 

To  feel,  as  feel  the  roots  that  grow 
In  darkness,  when  the  stately  tree 
Resists  the  tempest,  that  in  me 
High  Hope  was  planted  far  below ! 

But  now,  as  when  a  mother's  breast 
Misses  the  babe,  my  prisoned  power 
Deep-yearning,  heart-like,  hour  by  hour, 
Unquiet  aches  in  cankering  rest. ' ' 

To  use  Father  Tabb's  words:  "That  anchor  liked 
to  break  my  heart. ' '  The  ship  was  caught  in  a  heavy 
storm  off  Cape  Fear  River  in  North  Carolina.  The 
night  was  very  dark,  lowering  clouds  covered  the 
skies  and  no  ray  from  the  hidden  moon  pierced  the 
blackness  that  surrounded  them.  They  were  obliged 
to  drop  anchor,  but  did  not  know  what  their  posi 
tion  was.  When  dawn  broke  they  were  shocked  to 
find  that  they  were  within  the  blockading  line,  and 
that  seventeen  Union  ships  were  in  sight.  Not  hav 
ing  time  to  draw  up  the  anchor,  they  cut  the  cable 
and  made  their  escape  mid  a  storm  of  shot  and  shell. 

While  in  the  service  John  Tabb  also  visited  Ha 
vana,  St.  Thomas  Island,  London,  Dover,  Calais,  Paris, 
Bologne,  and  Glasgow.  Twenty  engravers  who 
were  to  make  the  Confederate  money,  and  two  young 
professors  (Mr.  Blair  and  Mr.  Thomas  Price)  were 

[16] 


THE  YOUNG  SOLDIER 

passengers  on  the  return  voyage.  In  after  years 
Dr.  Price  succeeded  Dr.  Gildersleeve  in  the  Faculty 
of  the  University  of  Virginia  and  published  the  first 
essay  on  Father  Tabb's  poems. 

The  "Robert  E.  Lee"  was  captured  in  1864  by 
the  United  States  steamer  "Keystone"  and  young 
Tabb,  with  other  prisoners,  was  sent  to  Point  Look 
out,  Maryland,  where  they  were  confined  for  eight 
months.  Although  these  months  of  imprisonment 
with  their  suffering  and  inactivity  were  a  sore  trial 
to  the  young  heart,  they  were  the  source  of  one  of 
the  deepest  and  tenderest  friendships  of  his  life,  for 
among  his  fellow  prisoners  was  his  brother-poet,  Sid 
ney  Lanier,  who  shared  with  him  the  gift  of  music 
as  well  as  of  verse. 

Never  robust,  John  Tabb's  health  was  much  im 
paired  by  the  confinement  and  hardships  of  prison 
life  —  the  memories  of  which  were  deeply  burned 
into  his  heart.  One  day,  while  lying  ill  with  fever, 
there  were  borne  to  him  the  silvery  tones  of  a  dis 
tant  flute  —  so  faint,  so  delicate  as  to  be  scarcely 
distinguishable;  at  first  he  thought  it  but  a  figment 
of  his  fevered  brain  but  upon  inquiry  he  found  that 
the  music  was  a  reality  and  the  player  Lanier,  whom 
he  met  a  few  days  later.  Many  were  the  heavy  hours 
of  prison  life  that  were  lightened  by  the  music  of 
this  flute,  which  Father  Tabb  says  was  his  greatest 
consolation  at  that  time,  and  which  remained  with 
him  always,  among  so  many  painful  recollections, 
"a  thing  of  beauty  —  a  joy  forever. " 


FATHER  TABB 

There  was  one  melody,  an  improvisation,  that 
Lanier  played  over  and  over.  It  was  so  beautiful 
and  had  such  a  haunting  note  of  sadness  that  few 
of  his  fellow  prisoners  could  hear  it  without  tears. 
Mr.  Edwin  Litchfield  Turnbull  of  Baltimore  has 
harmonized  and  published  this  melody.  In  writing 
of  it  Mr.  Turnbull  says : 

"This  quaint  bit  of  music  was  breathed  from  the 
silvery-toned  flute  of  that  master  of  song  and  music, 
Sidney  Lanier,  whose  memory  is  especially  dear  to 
the  citizens  of  Baltimore  among  whom  the  Southern 
poet  resided  many  years  and  where,  in  a  quiet  grave 
in  Greenmont,  he  sleeps.  A  gallant  Confederate 
soldier  in  the  Civil  War,  he  was  captured  and  con 
fined  in  Point  Lookout  Prison;  but  he  managed  to 
slip  by  the  guard  with  his  beloved  flute  —  the  com 
panion  of  many  a  weary  march  —  smuggled  up  his 
sleeve.  Thereafter  he  cheered  his  fellow-prisoners 
with  soulful  music.  The  fragment  of  melody  which 
I  have  here  presented  was  given  me  by  Lanier 's 
comrade  in  prison,  the  Baltimore  Poet-Priest,  Father 
Tabb,  who  many  years  after  yet  vividly  recalled  the 
haunting  melody  from  the  poet's  flute.  He  sang  it 
to  me  one  day  and  I  have  tried  to  give  it  an  appro 
priate  setting. " 

Father  Tabb  refers  to  Lanier 's  music  as  follows: 

"  LANIER 'S  FLUTE" 
"When  palsied  at  the  pool  of  thought 
The  poet's  words  were  found, 
Thy  voice  the  healing  angel  brought 
To  touch  them  into  sound. " 
[18] 


A  Melody  from  Lanier's  Flute. 


Amnftd  *nd  Ha/m«Hted  by 
Edwin  Litchfield  Turnbull. 


Piaao. 


Copyright  by  Breltkopf  &  Hirtel.  New  York  and  l.eipzir 

The  "Melody  from  Lanier's  Flute,"  as  arranged  by  Mr.  Turnbull,  has 
charmed  many  audiences.  Under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Turnbull  it  has  been 
played  many  times  by  the  United  States  Marine  Band  at  the  Capitol,  at  the 
White  House,  at  the  Marine  Barracks,  and  on  their  annual  concert  tours;  it  has 
also  been  rendered  by  an  orchestra  of  twenty-one  Boston  Symphony  musicians  at 
Bar  Harbor,  Maine,  and  by  a  sextette  of  Peabody  musicians  at  the  Johns  Hop 
kins  exercises;  when  the  Sidney  Lanier  Memorial  Exercises  were  held  March  1, 
1914,  at  the  First  Unitarian  Church,  Baltimore  Mr.  Frederick  G.  Gottlieb  who 
was  a  friend  of  Lanier  and  sat  next  him  in  the  old  Peabody  Orchestra,  played 
"The  Melody"  as  a  flute  solo.  Mr  Gottlieb  was  the  soloist  at  the  Johng  Hop 
kins  exercises  also.  "The  Melody"  was  played  at  the  North  Congregational 
Church  at  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  in  December,  1914.  with  Arthur  Brooke, 
second  flute  of  the  Boston  Symphony,  as  soloist,  and  during  the  same  year  Mr. 
J.  Fred  Wolle.  director  of  the  Bach  Festival  at  Bethlehem  Pennsylvania,  played 
"The  Melody"  at  several  of  his  organ  recitals,  giving  also  the  history  of  the 
composition. 


FATHER  TABB 

The  intimacy  between  the  two  young  men  grew 
and  ripened  and  lasted  until  the  death  of  Lanier. 
And  even  in  death  the  bond  was  unbroken:  Lanier 
is  often  mentioned  in  Father  Tabb's  poems,  and 
always  with  a  yearning  tenderness  which  bespeaks 
the  depth  of  the  feeling  between  them. 

When  the  young  soldeirs  were  released  in  Feb 
ruary  1865  and  stepped  once  more  into  God's  free 
air  and  sunshine,  young  Tabb  (not  quite  twenty 
years  old)  said:  "I  felt  that  I  was  in  the  Kingdom 
of  Heaven!"  But  in  reality  he  was  facing  a  ruined 
and  desolate  country.  Where  once  the  broad  acres 
of  his  father's  plantation  smiled  with  plenty  and 
where  rang  the  happy  melody  of  the  old  plantation 
melodies,  sung  by  the  incomparable  voices  of  the 
negroes,  all  was  waste;  a  little  later  in  the  spring 
these  fields,  once  showing  the  emerald  of  the  tender 
blade  of  grass  or  grain,  would  blossom  with  the 
four-years  growth  of  poverty : — sassafras  and  the 
trailing  vine  of  the  dewberry. 

Young  Tabb's  county  of  Amelia  had  given  her  all 
to  her  beloved  South :  her  sons,  her  stores,  her  treas 
ured  family  silver.  The  brass  andirons  and  fenders 
(the  pride  of  many  a  "Mammy"  who  kept  them  like 
burnished  gold)  went  for  the  manufacture  of  cannon, 
and  the  linen  from  many  a  family  chest  found  its 
way  to  the  hospitals  in  neat  rolls  of  bandage  and 
packages  of  lint  scraped  by  the  loving  hands  of  the 
women  at  home. 

The    desolation    around    him,    however,    did    not 

[20] 


THE  YOUNG  SOLDIER 

dampen  the  ardour  of  the  young  patriot's  spirit  nor 
lessen  the  buoyancy  of  his  outlook  upon  life. 

To  the  last  day  of  his  life  he  was  as  devoted  a 
Confederate  as  Father  Ryan;  and  never  could  be  in 
duced  to  go  north  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  line.  One 
of  his  students  at  St.  Charles  College,  Mr.  Barrett, 
lived  in  Lincoln,  Nebraska,  and  was  exceedingly 
anxious  for  Father  Tabb  to  visit  him  in  his  home. 
But  the  invitation  was  declined  with  the  following 
lines : 

"Who  would  think  on 
A  Rebel  with  Lincoln  ? 
Or  venture  to  ask  a 
Friend  to  Nebraska! 
Another  might  dare  it, 
But  I  cannot,  Barrett, 
Though  truly  to  thee 
A  friend.    J.  B.  T." 

As  ardent  a  Virginian  as  he  was  a  Confederate,  he 
cultivated  the  friendship  of  many  Virginians  who 
lived  in  the  vicinity  of  the  College.  Upon  one  oc 
casion,  when  asked  if  he  had  called  upon  some  family 
in  the  neighborhood,  he  laughingly  replied:  "0  no! 
I  only  go  to  see  Virginians!1' 


[21] 


CHAPTER  IV 

EARLY  MANHOOD  AND  CONVERSION  TO  THE 
CATHOLIC  FAITH 

While  serving  on  the  "Robert  E.  Lee,"  John  Tabb 
had  won  the  friendship  and  affection  of  Major  Ficklin 
who,  recognizing  his  remarkable  musical  talent, 
and  realizing  that  the  boy  was  now  thrown  on  his 
own  resources,  induced  him  to  come  to  Baltimore 
under  his  patronage  to  resume  the  study  of  music. 
For  a  year  he  devoted  his  entire  time  to  this  work 
under  Professor  Roemer,  but  at  the  end  of  the  year 
the  Ficklin  fortune  collapsed  and  he  was  forced  to 
give  up  his  course. 

Thus,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  we  find  him  a 
teacher  in  St.  Paul's  Protestant  Episcopal  School  in 
Baltimore. 

John  Tabb  was  baptized  in  infancy  and  confirmed 
in  his  boyhood  in  the  Episcopal  faith  —  the  faith  of 
his  forbears  for  many  generations  back.  The  old 
Colonial  Church,  known  as  the  "Grub  Hill  Church," 
still  stands  in  Amelia  County,  the  guardian  of  the 
Tabbs  from  the  time  of  their  first  settlement  in  the 
County.  Here  their  children  were  christened,  con 
firmed  and  married  and  around  its  sacred  walls 
many  members  of  the  family  now  sleep,  among  them 


EARLY  MANHOOD  AND  CONVERSION 

the  brother  of  Father  Tabb.  In  his  young  manhood 
he,  himself,  was  a  Lay-Reader  in  the  old  Church 
under  the  Reverend  Parke  Farley  Berkeley  who  was 
for  fifty-two  years  the  spiritual  father  of  that  con 
gregation. 

St.  Paul's  School  in  Baltimore  was  attached  to  Mt. 
Calvary  Church,  under  the  pastorate  of  Rev.  Alfred 
Curtis  "  whose  face  was  already  turned  towards 
Rome."  Mt.  Calvary  was  "High  Church"  to  the 
extent  that  its  Rector  "said  Mass,"  preached  de 
votion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary  and  called  himself 
a  priest,  wearing  cassock  and  biretta.  A  strong 
friendship  grew  up  between  him  and  the  young 
teacher  who  soon  fell  under  his  spiritual  influence 
and  accepted  him  as  his  guide.  And  this  influence 
was  in  no  way  diminished  when  John  Tabb  left  St. 
Paul's  in  1870  to  accept  a  better  position  in  another 
Episcopal  institution,  Racine  College,  Wisconsin. 

After  a  year  of  service  at  Racine  he  resigned  the 
chair  he  held,  to  follow  the  bidding  of  a  voice  within 
which  led  him  to  a  higher  service,  and  entered  the 
Episcopal  Theological  Seminary  at  Alexandria,  Vir 
ginia. 

Just  about  the  time  the  young  teacher  began  his 
course  at  Alexandria,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Curtis  reached 
his  decision  in  a  matter  which  he  had  for  a  long  time 
had  under  consideration;  he  resigned  his  pastorate 
and  very  soon  left  the  Anglican  Communion,  pre 
paratory  to  going  into  that  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
faith.  He  went  to  Oxford  to  consult  Dr.  Newman 

[23] 


FATHER  TABB 

and  made  his  final  decision  in  May  1872,  when  he  was 
baptized  into  the  church  of  his  adoption. 

This  radical  change  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Curtis  had 
a  strong  influence  on  the  mind  and  heart  of  his  young 
disciple  who  followed  his  course  with  the  most  in 
tense  interest,  and  when  Mr.  Curtis,  soon  after  his 
return  from  Europe,  entered  St.  Mary's  Seminary 
to  prepare  for  the  priesthood,  John  Tabb  (who  had 
also  been  prayerfully  studying  and  considering  the 
same  step)  soon  followed  his  example  and  in  less 
than  a  year  identified,  himself  with  the  Catholic 
Church. 

On  the  day  of  Father  Curtis'  ordination  (December 
19,  1874)  he  heard  his  first  confession,  and  the 
penitent  was  his  old  friend  and  disciple,  John  Tabb. 

The  biographer  of  Bishop  Curtis  speaks  thus  of 
their  relations:  "They  had  been  the  closest  of 
friends;  and  years  after,  when  Father  Curtis  became 
Bishop  of  Wilmington,  he  regularly  visited  his 
friend,  often  walking  the  five  miles  from  the  rail 
road  station  to  St.  Charles  College.  Bishop  Curtis 
was  his  consoling  angel  in  the  hour  of  his  greatest 
trial  and  darkness,  when  threatened  with  the  loss 
of  sight.  Together  they  took  long  walks  through 
the  country,  recreating  each  other  and  exchanging 
reminiscenses,  one  submitting  to  the  criticism  of  his 
friend  his  latest  verses,  while  the  other  cheered  him 
by  his  encouragement.  He  sent  the  poet  kind  and 
loving  messages  from  his  deathbed  and  bequeathed 

[24] 


HIS  EMINENCE,    CARDINAL   GIBBONS 


EARLY  MANHOOD  AND  CONVERSION 

to  him  his  chalice.  Bishop  Curtis  died  July  11,  1908, 
only  sixteen  months  before  his  friend." 

In  1874  John  Tabb  entered  St.  Charles  College  to 
take  up  his  preparation  for  the  priesthood.  Upon 
the  completion  of  his  classical  course  he  was  given 
the  chair  of  English  in  that  institution  and  remained 
there  until  his  death  in  1909. 

He  took  his  theological  course  while  a  member  of 
the  Faculty  and  was  not  ordained  to  the  priesthood 
until  1884.  His  Eminence,  Cardinal  Gibbons,  was 
a  close  friend  of  the  young  teacher  and  had  the 
rather  unique  privilege  of  administering  to  him  in 
one  day,  at  old  St.  Peter's  Cathedral  in  Richmond, 
Virginia,  the  four  sacraments:  Baptism,  Confession, 
Confirmation  and  the  Holy  Communion.  Later  his 
Eminence  also  gave  him  Holy  Orders. 

Many  years  after,  in  playful  mood,  he  asked  the 
Cardinal  for  further  spiritual  honors  — his  sight  was 
almost  gone  at  the  time  and  his  old  friend  Bishop 
Curtis  in  taking  leave  of  him  asked  if  he  could  take 
any  message  to  Cardinal  Gibbons.  Father  Tabb 
promptly  replied:  "Yes,  ask  him  to  give  me  a  new 
'See'  ". 

The  above  incident  was  related  to  the  writer  by 
His  Eminence  himself. 


[25] 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  TEACHER 

John  Bannister  Tabb  was  a  born  teacher  and  con 
sequently  rejoiced  in  his  work  which  was  truly  "a 
labor  of  love."  He  was  an  unusually  fine  Greek 
scholar  and  delighted  in  teaching  special  classes  in 
this  language ;  he  had  a  wonderful  memory  and  often 
recited  for  his  pupils  long  passages  from  the  Greek 
poets.  His  preference,  however,  was  for  English 
and  his  class  hour  was  eagerly  awaited  by  his  students. 
One  of  these,  Rev.  F.  Jos.  Magri,  M.  A.,  D.  D.,  formerly 
of  Richmond,  Virginia,  now  pastor  of  St.  Paul's 
Church,  Portsmouth,  Virginia,  gives  the  following 
interesting  sketch  of  him  at  St.  Charles  College : 

"The  reminiscenses  which  follow  are  intended  to 
picture  Father  Tabb  as  he  appeared  to  the  writer 
during  a  close  friendship  of  twenty-one  years,  con 
tinuing  to  the  time  of  the  poet-priest's  death.  An 
effort  will  be  made  to  portray  characteristic  incidents 
in  his  life  both  within  the  college  walls,  where  he 
spent  a  great  portion  of  his  days,  as  well  as  in  the 
outside  world  during  his  vacations,  passed  principally 
under  the  bright  skies  of  his  dear  Old  Virginia. 

"In  order  completely  to  depict  Father  Tabb  in  his 
wellrounded  life  at  St.  Charles  College  let  us  view  him 

[26] 


THE  TEACHEE 

(1)  in  the  classroom  and  study  hall,  (2)  at  his  recre 
ation  and  (3)  in  his  priestly  devotions/' 

These  different  phases  of  his  life  we  will  follow- — 
quoting  Dr.  Magri  as  each  is  touched  upon. 

"That  Father  Tabb  was  a  born  teacher,  gifted  with 
the  essential  trait  of  being  able  to  impart  easily  his 
knowledge  to  others,  is  vouched  for  by  all  who  had 
the  good  fortune  to  come  under  his  kindly  tutelage. 
His  "Bone  Rules  of  English  Grammar"  are,  to  say 
the  least,  unique,  and  form  a  solid  groundwork  on 
which  to  firmly  rear  the  superstructure  of  the 
English  language.  His  method  of  arousing  the  atten 
tion  of  his  students  was  striking;  in  order  to  impart 
with  effect  some  important  truth,  he  would  often  pre 
face  his  teaching  by  the  narration  of  some  comic  story 
or  witty  saying.  A  roar  of  laughter  emanating  from 
Father  Tabb's  classroom  would  indicate  to  the  stu 
dents  of  other  classes  that  he  had  just  effectively  nar 
rated  some  amusing  experience  or  illustration;  his 
peculiar  gestures  and  grimaces,  while  giving  vent  to 
his  witty  sayings,  would  often  provoke  as  much 
laughter  as  the  sayings  themselves.  Often  his  jokes 
were  so  deep  that  the  students  did  not  immediately 
see  the  point  aimed  at,  yet  a  spontaneous  burst  of  mer 
riment  would  greet  the  narration,  followed  by  a  second 
peal  when  the  telling  point  would  be  discovered.  As  a 
sample  of  his  wit,  the  following  is  given  as  heard  from 
Father  TabVs  lips  on  the  day  of  the  writer's  arrival 
at  college:  "In  a  certain  family  wherein  was  an  old 
negro  Mammy,  were  little  twin  girls  so  much  alike  that 


FATHER  TABB 

it  was  difficult  to  distinguish  them  apart.  The 
Mammy,  however,  was  very  partial  to  one  of  them 
and,  when  visitors  would  remark  that  the  little  girls 
were  exactly  alike,  Mammy,  placing  her  hand  on  the 
head  of  her  favorite,  would  add:  "An'  especially 
dis  one. ' ' 

"While  Father  Tabb  would  enlighten  and  enter 
tain  his  pupils  by  frequent  readings  from  the  poets, 
and  occasional  selections  from  prose,  he  would  never 
consent  to  teach  poetry  as  such.  One  day  when  asked 
why  he  refused  to  teach  the  class  in  poetry,  he  replied : 
"Did  I  teach  poetry  I  would  feel  like  a  surgeon  who 
might  try  to  dissect  himself." 

This  refusal,  however,  did  not  apply  to  his  giving 
his  pupils  for  study  and  analysis  specimens  from  the 
poets  of  his  choice,  the  principal  being  Shakespeare, 
Poe,  Keats,  Shelly,  Coleridge,  and  Tennyson.  He 
would  each  year  recite  to  his  class  from  memory,  Poe's 
"Raven"  from  beginning  to  end.  His  love  for  the 
weird  and  strange  is  shown  by  his  frequent  references 
to  Coleridge's  "Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner."  His 
favorite  prose  author  was  Cardinal  Newman.  Poe,  he 
regarded  as  the  originator  and  greatest  master  of  the 
short  story." 

But  the  work  of  his  class  was  not  all  so  enter 
taining  ;  half  of  each  recitation  period  was  given  up 
to  drill,  and  his  wonderful  gift  for  illustration  was 
often  brought  into  play  in  his  blackboard  work. 

He  was  a  strong  disciplinarian  and  brooked  no  show 

[28] 


THE  TEACHER 

of  inattention  or  lack  of  interest  in  the  work  in  hand. 
Sometimes,  too,  he  gave  way  to  a  just  indignation  at 
such  an  attitude  in  a  pupil.  A  prominent  priest  of 
Virginia  states  that  on  one  occasion  he  had  painful 
proof  of  the  fact  that  Father  Tabb  demanded  the  full 
attention  of  the  boys  in  his  classes.  He  says :  * '  The 
fact  that  I  was  a  Virginian  gave  the  priest  a  special 
interest  in  my  welfare  but  on  one  occasion  this  inter 
est  was  manifested  in  a  way  that  left  an  indelible 
impression  on  my  mind  and  almost  as  strong  an 
impression  on  my  cranium.  It  happened  that  I  became 
absorbed  in  "  David  Copperfield"  and  took  it  to 
Father  Tabb 's  class  in  order  to  read  a  few  pages.  It 
was  not  long  before  I  was  discovered,  the  book 
satched  from  my  hand  and  brought  down  on  my  head 
in  no  gentle  fashion  —  and  the  lecture  then  and  there, 
supplemented  by  a  heart  to  heart  talk  after  class, 
entirely  cured  me  of  any  inclination  to  distractions  in 
class." 

Father  Tabb's  "Bone  Rules,  or  the  Skeleton  of 
English  Grammar"  was  first  published  in  1897  and 
clearly  demonstrates  his  method  of  teaching.  The 
dedication  of  the  volume  is  as  follows : 

"Inscribed  to  my  Pupils,  Active  and  Passive,  Per 
fect  and  Imperfect,  Past,  Present  and  Future,  by  their 
loving  Father  Tabb." 

In  a  presentation  copy  he  added  to  the  above:  "In 
whatever  Mood  they  may  be,"  and  wrote  beneath 
the  dedication: 


FATHER  TABS 
"EPITAPH  SUGGESTED  BY  THE  AUTHOR 

Here  lies  the  old  fool 
Who  erstwhile  taught  school 
And  wrote  the  Bone  Rule: 
0  God,  keep  him  cool  I " 

A  critic  says  of  this  volume:  "The  brevity  and 
clearness  which  mark  every  page,  the  pithy  explana 
tory  notes,  the  copious  quotations  from  the  masters  of 
English  literature,  and  even  the  comic  procession  of 
'Sentences  to  be  Corrected,'  many  of  them  Father 
Tabb's  own  creation,  render  'Bone  Rules'  an  easy 
and  helpful  manner  of  studying  grammar." 

Some  of  the  parenthetical  remarks  in  this  volume 
are  most  amusing;  for  instance,  after  his  treatment 
of  "Verbs"  he  adds  as  a  footnote:  "Remark:  Any 
word  may  be  used  as  a  verb;  as,  'it  out-herods 
Herod.'  " 

"You  head  the  list; 
I  hand  the  quill ; 
And  toe  the  mark, 
And  foot  the  bill." 

He  had  a  unique  way  of  impressing  facts  by  means 
of  rhymes:  at  the  end  of  the  chapters  on  Adjectives 
and  Adverbs  he  gives  the  following : 

' '  To  bodies,  color,  shape  and  size 
And  weight  the  adjective  supplies ; 

[30] 


THE  TEACHER 

And  gives  to  things  we  cannot  see 
Their  rank,  and  worth,  and  quality." 

and  again 

"The  time,  the  place,  or  whither,  whence; 
The  manner  how,  the  reason  why: 
The  purpose,  cause,  and  consequence 
The  adverb  can  alone  supply. " 

Reference  has  been  made  to  Father  Tabb's  "comic 
procession  of  sentences  to  be  corrected. ' '  Among  the 
best  of  the  original  ones  are : 

"Them  that  was  foremost  in  making  the  fuss 
Is  as  old,  and  a  hundred  times  meaner  than  us. 

He  said  if  I  seen  you  before  it  was  took, 
To  tell  you  the  physic  had  ought  to  be  shook. 

My  friend  is  as  old  and  more  abler  than  me, 
And  if  he  lives  longer,  a  bishop  he'll  be. 

The  child  had  laid  so  long  in  bed, 

Expecting  to  get  stronger, 
That  ere  I  seen  him  he  had  grew 

Most  fifteen  inches  longer. 

Him  and  me  being  about  the  same  height, 

Is  often  mistook  for  each  other  at  night, 

But  the  sun  having  rose,  on  our  features  to  shine, 

You  can  see  that  his  eyes  is  some  littler  than  mine. 


FATHER  TABS 

"Lay  still, "  his  mother  often  said 
When  Washington  had  went  to  bed. 
But  little  Georgie  would  reply : 
1 1  set  up,  but  I  cannot  lie!'  " 

The  drill  work,  the  technical  part  of  the  lesson, 
having  been  disposed  of,  Father  Tabb,  much  to  the 
delight  of  his  classes,  turned  to  the  poets,  and  many 
charming  hours  were  spent  with  Shakespeare,  Shelley, 
Keats  and  Poe  —  the  latter  being,  perhaps,  the 
favorite. 

Mr.  S.  D.  Duggan,  a  gifted  student  of  the  poet, 
writes :  ' '  We  ran  with  him  through  the  gamut  of  c  The 
Bells, '  from  the  riotous  roar  to  the  softest  tintinabula- 
tions.  And  even  the  most  apathetic  was  forced  to 
wipe  away  a  tear  at  realizing  the  full  sadness  of  the 
untimely  taking  off  of  'that  rare  and  radiant  maiden 
whom  the  angels  name  Lenore.'  Toward  the  end  of 
one  session  the  teacher  went  to  one  corner  of  the  class 
room,  crouched,  and  began  to  recite  'The  Skylark/ 
The  students  were  transfixed.  When  he  had  finished, 
he  was  on  tiptoe  at  the  opposite  corner  of  the  room, 
breathless,  as  if  eager  to  follow  the  bird  in  its  flight. 
Instinctively  the  class  broke  into  tumultuous  applause. 
He  modestly  repressed  our  enthusiasm  with  the  re 
mark  :  '  Gentlemen,  did  you  see  that  skylark  soar  ?  did 
you  hear  him  sing?  If  there  is  a  single  boy  in  this 
class  who  did  not  see  that  bird  and  hear  him,  I  forbid 
him  ever  again  to  open  a  book  of  poetry,  for  it  would 
be  sheer  waste  of  time. ' 

[32] 


THE  TEACHER 

"Need  it  be  said  that  most  of  those  present  saw 
the  bird  and  heard  him  sing?" 

Father  T  abb's  love  for  Poe,  Keats  and  Shelly  is 
best  exemplified,  I  think,  by  the  following  beautiful 
tributes  from  his  pen : 

POE 

Sad  spirit,  swathed  in  brief  mortality, 

Of  Fate  and  fervid  fantasies  the  prey, 

Till  the  remorseless  demon  of  dismay 

0  'erwhelmed  thee  —  lo !  thy  doleful  destiny 

Is  chanted  in  the  requiem  of  the  sea 

And  shadowed  in  the  crumbling  ruins  grey 

That  beetle  o'er  the  tarn.    Here  all  the  day 

The  Raven  broods  on  solitude  and  thee ; 

Here  gloats  the  moon  at  midnight,  while  The  Bells 

Tremble,  but  speak  not,  lest  thy  Ulalume 

Should  startle  from  her  slumbers,  or  Lenore 

Harken  the  love-forbidden  tone  that  tells 

The  shrouded  legend  of  thy  early  doom 

And  blast  the  bliss  of  heaven  for  evermore. 

AT  KEATS'  GRAVE 

"I  feel  the  flowers  growing  over  me." 
Prophetic  thought!    Behold,  no  cypress  gloom 
Portrays  in  dim  memorial  the  doom 
That  quenched  the  ray  of  starlike  destiny ! 
E'en  Death  itself  deals  tenderly  with  thee: 
For  here,  the  livelong  year,  the  violets  bloom 

[33] 


FATHER  TABB 

And  swing  their  fragrant  censers  till  the  tomb 
Forgets  the  legend  of  mortality. 
Nay  :  when  the  pilgrim  periods  of  time 
Alternate  song  and  holy  requiem  sing, 
As  through  the  circling  centuries  sublime 
They  scatter  frost,  or  genial  sunshine  bring, 
With  gathered  sweets  of  every  varying  clime, 
They  weave  around  thee  one  perpetual  Spring! 

SHELLEY 

Shelley,  the  ceaseless  music  of  thy  soul 
Breathes  in  the  Cloud  and  in  the  Skylark's  song, 

That  float  as  an  embodied  dream  along 
The  dewy  lids  of  morning.    In  the  dole 

That  haunts  the  West  Wind,  in  the  joyous  roll 
Of  Arethusan  fountains,  or  among 

The  wastes  where  Ozymandias  the  strong 
Lies  in  colossal  ruin,  thy  control 

Speaks  in  the  wedded  rhyme.    Thy  spirit  gave 
A  fragrance  to  all  nature,  and  a  tone 

To  inexpressive  silence.    Each  apart  — 
Earth,  Air  and  Ocean  —  claims  thee  as  its  own ; 

The  twain  that  bred  thee  and  the  panting  wave 
That  clasped  thee,  like  an  overflowing  heart. 

TO  SHELLEY 

At  Shelley's  birth, 

The  Lark,  dawn-spirit,  with  an  anthem  loud, 
Hose  from  the  dusky  earth 

[34] 


THE  TEACHER 

To  tell  it  to  the  Cloud, 
That,  like  a  flower  night-folded  in  the  gloom 
Burst  into  morning  bloom. 

At  Shelley's  death 
The  Sea,  that  deemed  him  an  immortal,  saw 

A  god's  extinguished  breath, 

And  landward,  as  in  awe, 
Upbore  him  to  the  altar  whence  he  came, 

And  the  rekindling  flame. 

KEATS 

Upon  thy  tomb  'tis  graven,  ' '  Here  lies  one 
Whose  name  is  writ  in  water."    Could  there  be 

A  flight  of  fancy  fitlier  framed  for  thee, 
A  fairer  motto  for  her  favorite  son? 

For,  as  the  waves,  thy  varying  numbers  run  — • 
Now  crested  proud  in  tidal  majesty, 

Now  tranquil  as  the  twilight  revery 
Of  some  dim  lake  the  white  moon  looks  upon 

While  teems  the  world  with  silence.     Even  there 
In  each  Protean  rainbow  tint  that  stains 

The  breathing  canvas  of  the  atmosphere, 
We  read  an  exhalation  of  thy  strains. 

Thus,  on  the  scroll  of  Nature,  everywhere, 
Thy  name,  a  deathless  syllable,  remains. 

POE-CHOPIN 
O'er  each  the  soul  of  Beauty  flung 

A  shadow,  mingled  with  the  breath 
Of  music  that  the  Sirens  sung, 

Whose  utterance  is  death. 

[35] 


FATHER  TABB 
KEATS-SAPPHO 

Methinks  when  first  the  nightingale 
Was  mated  to  thy  deathless  song, 

That  Sappho,  with  emotion  pale, 
Amid  the  Olympian  throng, 

Stood  listening  with  lips  apart, 
To  hear  in  thy  melodious  love 

The  pantings  of  her  heart. 

POE'S  CRITICS 

A  certain  tyrant,  to  disgrace 
The  more  a  rebel's  resting  place, 
Compelled  the  people,  every  one, 
To  hurl,  in  passing  there,  a  stone ; 
Which  done,  the  rugged  pile  became 
A  sepulcher,  to  keep  the  name. 
And  thus  it  is  with  Edgar  Poe: 
Each  passing  critic  has  his  throw, 
Nor  sees,  defeating  his  intent, 
How  lofty  grows  the  monument ! 

Father  Tabb's  own  critics  were  sometimes  favored 
(?)  with  the  same  kind  of  attention  and  so  clever 
were  some  of  these  hits  that  when  "Quips  and 
Quiddits"  appeared  in  1907,  the  publishers,  Small, 
Maynard  &  Company,  of  Boston,  collected  a  number 

[36] 


THE  TEACHER 

of  them  and  inserted  them  with  the  following  note  as 
preface : 

' l  A  few  verses  by  way  of  introduction,  in  which  the 
author  gets  even  with  his  critics,  his  publishers,  and 
those  who  trifle  with  his  name  —  from  which  latter 
failing  he  himself  does  not  seem  exempt." 

Among  the  best  of  these  verses  are  the  following : 

"ON  THE  COVER  OF  JOHN  B.  TABB'S  LATE 
LONDON  VOLUME 

His  eyes  are  dim; 

And  so  for  him, 

They  thought  in  London  'twas  enough 
To  bind  his  book  in  blind-man's  buff!" 

TO  MR.  ANDREW  LANG,  WHO  SPELLED  MY 
NAME  'TAB' 

0  why  should  Old  Lang  Sign 
A  compliment  to  me, 
(If  it  indeed  be  mine) 
And  filch  my  final  b? 

To  him  as  to  the  Dane 
In  his  soliloquy, 
This  question  comes  again, — 

'2bornot2b?'  " 

Father  Tabb  always  impressed  strongly  upon  his 
students  a  love  for  the  doctrines  and  discipline  of  the 

[37] 


FATHER  TABB 

Church,  but  once  he  remarked  in  class  that  if  he 
should  die  before  his  ordination  he  would  like  his 
epitaph  to  read:  " Sacred  to  the  memory  of  John  B. 
Tabb,  D.  D."  When  reminded  by  a  member  of  the 
class  that  he  was  not  yet  a  Doctor  of  Divinity,  he 
replied :  ' '  D.  D.  will  not  mean  Doctor  of  Divinity  on 
my  tombstone,  it  will  mean  Died  of  Dogma. " 

He  had  a  great  distaste  for  mathematics  and  would 
never  admit  that  he  could  even  add.  The  following 
he  says,  is  "the  only  geometrical  thought  I  ever  had 
and  it  shows  all  I  know  of  the  science  of  angles: 

Suspended  o  'er  Geometry 
I  am  a  fisher-woman,  dangling  — 
A  creature  too  obtuse  to  know 
What  is  acute  in  angling/' 

One  of  his  critics  says:  "He  had  the  faculty  of 
genius  in  calling  out  latent  talent  in  his  students, 
which  he  fostered  with  generous  and  unremitting  care. 
Indeed,  he  was  ever  at  their  service,  in  class  or  out  of 
class. " 

Another  says:  "He  possessed  rare  ability,  both  to 
fix  the  attention  of  his  students  and  to  rivet  in  in 
dividual  minds  the  facts  he  wished  to  impress.  His 
methods  of  teaching  were  original  and  the  means  used 
were  indifferent  to  him  if  in  the  end  the  fact  was 
indelibly  impressed  upon  the  student's  memory;  a 
comic  story,  a  limerick,  a  pun,  a  humorous  illustration 
on  the  blackboard  —  for  the  priest  was  gifted  with 

[38] 


THE  TEACHER 

pencil  as  with  pen  —  all  were  quickly  utilized  as  a 
means  to  a  desired  end.  No  lesson  was  ever  presented 
twice  in  the  same  way,  and  there  was  nothing  in 
which  he  delighted  more  than  in  grounding  the  young 
student  in  the  elements,  or  as  he  termed  them  the 
'bones'  of  English  grammar.  It  would  be  difficult 
to  find  an  instructor  better  fitted  for  the  task,  and  it 
was  a  dull  student  indeed  who  did  not  make  rapid  pro 
gress  under  his  inspiring  instruction.  'Boys/  he 
once  remarked  in  the  calssroom,  'I  don't  care  how 
ridiculous  a  thing  is  if  by  it  I  can  teach  you  some 
thing  you  ought  to  know.' 

"Thoroughly  familiar  with  the  classics,  scarcely  a 
day  passed  that  the  instructor  did  not  devote  some 
portion  of  it  to  Greek  and  Latin  authors  —  especially 
the  poets.  Often  he  read  one  of  these  ancient  master 
pieces  to  his  class,  and  new  significance  and  beauty 
were  evoked  by  the  strength  and  intelligence  of  his 
interpretation.  After  Shakespeare,  his  favorite 
English  authors  were  Tennyson,  Keats  and  Shelley. 
He  had  a  fondness  also  for  Coleridge,  whose  'Rime 
of  the  Ancient  Mariner'  he  frequently  read  to  hia 
students  with  a  dramatic  effect  difficult  to  surpass. 
His  appreciation  of  Poe  was  deep  and  sincere,  and  the 
words  of  the  poets  he  loved  were  close  to  him  as  his 
own  thoughts.  Often  he  quoted  from  the  English 
poets  at  great  length  without  any  reference  to  the 
text." 


[39] 


CHAPTER  VI 
OUTSIDE  THE  CLASSROOM 

Returning  to  Father  Magri's  sketch  we  shall  next 
see  Father  Tabb  pictured  in  the  study  hall  and  at  his 
recreation. 

"During  certain  hours  he  presided  in  place  of  the 
prefect  of  discipline.  It  was  his  invariable  custom 
while  'keeping  study'  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
centre  aisle  with  a  small  book  in  his  hand,  on  which 
rested  a  sheet  of  paper  whereon  he  would  from  time  to 
time  jot  down  some  poetic  thought,  or  draw  a  cartoon 
of  some  well  known  individual,  which  latter  he  would 
show  to  different  students  as  he  passed  along  beside 
their  desks.  Sometimes  the  drawing  would  be  of  so 
comical  a  nature  that  the  student,  on  beholding  it, 
would  disturb  the  whole  study  hall  by  his  irrepressible 
laughter;  after  which  Father  Tabb  would,  with  mock 
solemnity,  place  a  finger  on  his  lips  in  token  of  silence 
and,  in  affected  majesty,  continue  his  walk  up  and 
down  the  room.  This  assumed  manner,  so  unnatural 
to  him,  would  often  provoke  more  laughter,  until  he 
signalled  with  his  hand  that  he  wished  the  spirit  of 
mirth  to  end. 

Rev.  T.  A.  Rankin  of  Charlottesville,  Virginia, 
relates  that:  "Father  Tabb  was  habitually  making 

[40] 


OUTSIDE  THE  CLASSROOM 

puns,  some  rather  far-fetched,  on  every  conceivable 
subject.  Nearly  every  thing  he  said  evoked  a  smile. 
A  classmate  of  mine,  I  remember,  always  greeted  these 
witticisms  with  a  hearty  laugh  —  whether  he  under 
stood  the  point  or  not.  One  evening  while  Father 
Tabb  was  in  charge  of  the  study  hall  and  was  going 
along  the  aisles,  stopping  occasionally  to  speak  a  word 
of  encouragement  or  to  spring  a  pun  that  had  just 
occurred  to  his  fertile  mind,  he  stopped  at  the  afore 
said  student's  desk  and  asked  him  a  serious  question 
in  a  low  tone  of  voice.  The  young  man,  thinking  it 
was  a  joke  and  that  he  was  expected  to  laugh,  broke 
out  in  a  loud  ha-ha,  much  to  Father  Tabb's  disgust. 
Never  again  was  he  favored  with  a  bon  mot." 

While  walking  back  and  forth  along  the  aisles  of 
the  study  hall,  lost  in  thought  or  dreaming  his  poet 
dreams,  it  was  the  priest's  frequent  custom  to  pause 
at  the  west  windows  of  the  room  and  stand  gazing 
out.  The  trees  at  various  seasons,  the  alluring  tints 
of  the  clouds,  the  placid  bosom  of  the  lake,  the  flowers 
that  were  visible  from  this  point  of  vantage  —  all  at 
tracted  his  attention.  A  number  of  his  poems  were 
written  during  these  study  hours  and  others  were 
inspired  by  some  object  that  caught  his  eye  as  he 
paused  at  the  windows  of  the  hall. 

THE  LAKE 

I  am  a  lonely  woodland  lake. 
The  trees  that  round  me  grow, 


FATHER  TABS 

The  glimpse  of  heaven  above  me,  make 
The  sum  of  all  I  know. 


The  mirror  of  their  dreams  to  be 

Alike  in  shade  and  shine, 
To  clasp  in  Love's  captivity, 

And  keep  them  one  —  is  mine. 

This  refers  to  a  lake  in  the  college  grounds  which 
was  excavated  by  a  member  of  the  Faculty,  Father 
Vuibert,  Vice-President  of  the  College.  This  lake 
was  in  plain  view  from  the  study  hall  windows  and 
Father  Tabb  delighted  to  watch,  especially  at  the 
twilight  time,  the  changing  surface  of  the  waters  and 
the  play  of  light  and  shade  upon  them. 

Other  gems  jotted  down  at  this  time  are:  " Indian 
Summer,"  which  was  suggested  to  the  poet  by  the 
gorgeous  tints  of  a  red  gum  tree  outside  the  window ; 
"Winter  Twilight,"  "Joy,"  and  the  widely  known 
1 '  Fern  Song ' '  —  probably  the  most  frequently  quoted 
of  all  his  poems.  The  little  fern  that  inspired  this 
beautiful  thought  stood  in  the  window  of  the  study 
hall  and  while  gazing  out,  on  a  dark,  rainy  day,  the 
priest  noticed  the  rhythmical,  dancing  motion  of  the 
little  leaves  and  gave  to  the  world  this  charming  ex 
ponent  of  his  own  bright  optimism,  which  always  led 
him  to  look  for  a  lesson  of  cheer  in  any  circumstance, 
however  dark.  While  bearing  to  us  a  message  straight 
from  his  nature-loving  heart,  the  little  song  is  so 
dainty  and  has  such  charm  in  its  rhythm  that  it  grips 

[42] 


OUTSIDE  THE  CLASSROOM 

the  mind  and  heart  and  sings  itself  over  and  over  to 
all  who  read  it — the  very  embodiment  of  cheerfulness. 

FERN  SONG 

Dance  to  the  beat  of  the  rain,  little  fern, 
And  spread  out  your  palms  again, 

And  say,  "Tho'  the  sun 

Hath  my  vesture  spun, 
He  had  labored,  alas,  in  vain 

But  for  the  shade 

That  the  cloud  hath  made, 
And  the  gift  of  the  dew  and  the  rain/' 

Then  laugh  and  upturn 

All  your  fronds,  little  fern, 
And  rejoice  in  the  beat  of  the  rain. 

Father  Tabb  loved  to  be  with  the  students,  and 
when  he  appeared  on  the  campus  they  hailed  him  with 
delight,  and  he  was  always  made  the  central  figure  in 
a  group  of  joyous  youngsters  who  idolized  him  .  .  . 
recognizing  and  realizing  the  deep  and  lasting  affection 
that  he  felt  for  them.  It  is  said  at  the  school  that 
those  who  knew  him  best  were  unable  to  tell  which" 
was  greater,  his  heart  or  his  genius  —  both  seemed 
boundless. 

An  inveterate  punster,  many  of  his  boys  claimed 
that  he  arose  each  morning  with  an  entirely  new  set 
of  witticisms,  and  his  progress  through  the  college 
refectory  at  breakfast  was  enlivened  by  his  humorous 
oddities  which  left  peals  of  laughter  in  his  wake.  His 

[43] 


FATHER  TABB 

fun  was  without  tinge  of  bitterness  or  irony  and  his 
brilliant  flashes  left  neither  cut  nor  sting.  The  mer 
riment  which  he  aroused  was  as  the  sunshine  —  pure 
and  sweet ;  and  those  who  eagerly  crowded  round  him 
were  secure  from  any  fear  that  his  shafts  would  cause 
a  heartache  or  leave  a  wound,  however  slight. 

He  often  joined  the  students  in  their  walks,  when 
he  would  at  times  express  himself  with  the  artlessness 
of  a  child;  then  he  would  burst  forth  in  a  torrent  of 
witty  sayings  that  marked  the  man  and  the  thinker. 

Naturally  shy  and  reserved,  he  avoided  whenever 
possible  any  public  gatherings  or  meetings  with 
strangers;  and  this  shyness  increased  rather  than 
diminished  with  his  ripening  years.  He  used  to  say 
that  there  was  nobody  in  the  world  that  he  hadn't 
seen  that  he  wanted  to  see.  That  he  did  not  want  to 
meet  any  more  people  than  he  knew  already. 

When  illustrious  dignitaries  came  to  the  college  to 
celebrate  some  feast  day  or  other  event,  * '  Father  Tabb 
would  steal  off  to  the  hills  and  the  dales,  to  hold  sweet 
converse  with  nature  and  to  gather  material  for  his 
immortal  verse;  as  has  been  said  of  other  great 
men  —  he  was  never  so  little  alone  as  when  alone. " 

On  the  eve  of  the  Feast  of  St.  Charles  he  could 
always  be  seen  trudging  the  six  miles  down  the  pike 
to  Ellicott  City  in  order  to  escape  the  swarm  of 
visitors  who  always  descended  upon  the  college  on 
that  occasion. 

I  am  indebted  to  M.  S.  Pine  (Sister  Mary  Paulina) 
for  the  following  anecdotes:  "One  day  Father  Tabb 

[44] 


OUTSIDE  THE  CLASSROOM 

was  particularly  requested  to  be  on  hand  to  help  en 
tertain  four  bishops  who  were  hourly  expected.  The 
smile  on  his  face  could  not  be  misinterpreted.  He  was 
soon  out  of  sight  in  his  beloved  haunts  in  the  woods, 
where  he  spent  the  day.  As  the  whistle  told  him  late 
in  the  afternoon  that  the  guests  had  departed,  he 
sauntered  back  to  the  College.  On  the  way  one  of  the 
Faculty  met  him  and  asked:  'Why  didn't  you  stay 
and  see  the  Bishops?'  'I  didn't  want  to  meet  my 
forefathers,  (four  Fathers) '  was  the  witty  rejoinder. 
"In  the  same  spirit  of  distaste  for  great  functions, 
he  later  declined  an  invitation  of  the  Reverend  Father 
(now  Monsignor)  Mackin  of  Washington,  to  be  pres 
ent  at  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  St.  Paul's 
Church,  of  which  Father  Mackin  was  Pastor.  Here 
are  Father  Tabb  's  regrets : 

St.  Peter  is  the  corner-stone, 
And  if  you  build  on  Paul, 

I  greatly  fear 

Ere  many  a  year 
Your  Church  is  doomed  to  fall. 

So  pray  excuse 

If  I  refuse 
To  heed  your  invitation, 

Or  have  no  heart 

To  take  a  part 
In  such  a  Mackin-ation. ' ' 

Bishop  O'Connell  of  Richmond,  Virginia,  relates 
the  following  incident :  When  Bishop  Foley  of  Michi- 

[45] 


FATHER  TABB 

gan  was  the  guest  of  His  Eminence,  Cardinal  Gibbons, 
the  two  were  invited  to  dine  at  St.  Charles  College. 
Father  Tabb  was  asked  to  write  the  invitation,  which 
he  did,  thus: 

"Dear  Cardinal  Gibbons: 
With  all  your  red  ribbons, 
Pray  lend  us  the  light  of  your  face ; 

And  bring  with  you  Holy 

John  Michigan  Foley 

(Who  hopes  some  day  to  be  in  your  place )." 

In  his  younger  days  Father  Tabb  attended  the 
funeral  of  an  old  gentleman  who  was  known  to  have 
led  rather  a  wild  life ;  this  was  before  the  use  of  the 
padded  top  to  the  casket,  and  to  avoid  the  hollow 
sound  of  the  clods  falling  into  the  open  grave,  a 
quantity  of  shavings  were  placed  upon  the  top  of  the 
case.  Someone  standing  behind  him  leaned  over  his 
shoulder  and  whispered:  "Mr.  Tabb,  what's  all  that 
they  're  putting  in  ? "  Without  an  instant 's  hesitation 
or  the  least  change  of  expression,  he  replied:  " Kin 
dling  I" 

Upon  an  other  occasion  he  was  visiting  a  friend  in 
a  hospital.  A  patient  was  to  be  operated  upon  but  was 
anxious  to  see  a  priest  before  being  taken  to  the 
operating  room.  Knowing  that  Father  Tabb  was  in 
the  house,  one  of  the  physicians  asked  if  he  would 
be  willing  to  see  the  lady.  He  said  that  certainly  he 
would  do  whatever  he  could  and  that  he  thought  it 

[46] 


K  . 


OUTSIDE  THE  CLASSROOM 

most  fitting  "that  the  old  lady  be  opened  with 
prayer. ' ' 

In  appearance  Father  Tabb  was  slender  of  figure, 
slightly  above  medium  height,  homely  of  face,  with 
strong,  prominent  features.  On  one  occasion,  passing 
a  stranger  on  the  streets  of  Baltimore  he  stopped,  held 
out  his  hand  and  said,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye :  *  *  How 
do  you  do,  friend ;  until  I  met  you  I  thought  I  was  the 
ugliest  man  alive !"  Needless  to  say  that  the  other 
took  no  offense. 

The  autograph  cartoon  of  himself,  given  to  the 
writer  by  Sister  Mary  Paulina  of  the  Georgetown  Con 
vent  of  the  Visitation,  he  sent  to  a  friend  whom  he 
had  never  seen,  but  who  was  a  great  admirer  of  his 
genius  as  a  writer.  He  said :  "To  disabuse  your  no 
tion  of  the  '  poet, '  I  sent  you  a  matter-of-fact  present 
ment  of  the  'man'  who  is  aways,  dear ,  Your 

Servant  in  Christ,  John  B.  Tabb. ' '  Below  the  cartoon 
was  written: 

This  is  the  Catholic  Priest 

Who  in  piety  never  increased. 

With  the  world  and  the  devil 

He  kept  on  a  level, 

But  from  flesh  he  was  wholly  released ! 

At  one  time  when  in  great  poverty,  Father  Tabb 
sold  a  poem  "The  Cloud"  to  Harper's  Magazine  for 
the  sum  of  fifteen  dollars;  with  this  amount  he  pur 
chased  a  pair  of  shoes  and  other  necessities  and  then 
wrote  the  following: 

[47] 


FATHER  TABB 

One  day  with  feet  upon  the  ground 

I  stood  among  the  crowd: 
The  next,  with  sole  renewed,  I  found 

A  footing  on  "The  Cloud!" 

"The  Cloud "  was  later  published  in  his  poems 
which  came  out  in  1894  and  is  one  of  his  longest  pro 
ductions,  containing  eight  four-line  stanzas. 

At  the  time  of  Father  Tabb's  death  a  writer  in  the 
Baltimore  Sun  said  of  him :  ' '  In  manner  he  was  cor 
dially  responsive  or  shy  and  reserved,  according  to  his 
degree  of  intimacy  with  those  with  whom  he  was  asso 
ciated.  About  Ellicott  City  his  face  and  figure  were 
familiar  to  the  entire  community.  Not  only  the  boys 
of  St.  Charles  College  but  those  of  Rock  Hill  College 
and  those  of  Ellicott  City  were  his  ardent  admirers 
and  close  friends.  A  resident  of  that  town  speaking 
of  him  says :  "  A  boy,  a  genuine  boy  was  Father  Tabb ! 
And  the  stories  he  could  tell!  There  was  never  any 
trouble  in  finding  a  stable  boy  to  drive  Father  Tabb 
out  to  the  college!"  This  same  gentleman  also  cited 
many  instances  of  the  priest's  goodness  and  gener 
osity —  telling  of  cases  where  he  had  helped  needy 
boys,  of  many  a  pair  of  shoes  that  found  their  way  in 
secret  to  barefoot  lads,  and  of  clothes  smuggled  to 
those  in  need  of  them. 

"Half  way  between  Ellicott  City  and  St.  Charles 
College  resided  some  Virginia  friends  of  Father  Tabb 
and  their  home  was  for  many  years  an  almost  daily  in 
terlude  in  the  priest's  long  walks  about  the  country. 

[48] 


OUTSIDE  THE  CLASSROOM 

Here,  and  in  the  homes  of  a  few  other  families,  the 
poet  came  and  went  as  the  mood  impelled  him.  Al 
ways  a  welcome  guest,  he  here  cast  aside  reserve  and 
was  frankly  interested  in  the  affairs  of  the  day,  ready 
to  discuss  with  boyish  enthusiasm  topics  light  or 
serious,  the  last  novel,  the  last  drama  —  for  he  now 
and  again  attended  a  good  play — an  inspiring  con 
cert,  or  the  affairs  of  the  nation.  But  from  strangers, 
denizens  of  the  outer  world,  Father  Tabb  fled  as  does 
the  wild  deer,  to  the  forests.  Social  gatherings  always 
found  him  like  Bill  Nye  's  ghost,  '  of  an  unsociable  dis 
position  and  always  going  the  other  way.' 

Dr.  Magri  says :  ' '  He  loved  his  friends  with  all  the 
ardour  and  intensity  of  his  generous  soul.  To  him 
friendship  was  something  eternal;  this  may  explain 
why  he  would  never  bid  goodbye  to  his  friends  and 
why  he  would  almost  feel  offended  did  one  of  them  say 
goodbye  to  him  —  even  though  in  body  absent,  his 
friends  were  in  spirit  constantly  with  him,  then  why 
goodbye?  It  has  been  said  (and  likely  with  truth) 
that  no  one  ever  saw  him  departing  from  the  college 
for  his  summer  vacation ;  several  days  before  the  an 
nual  commencement  his  room  would  be  found  vacant 
— the  bird  had  flown  with  no  goodbye,  no  sad  part 
ing." 

Another  peculiarity  exhibited  by  Father  Tabb  along 
the  same  line  was  his  aversion  to  ever  seeing  again  a 
young  man  whom  he  had  loved  as  a  youth.  A  lawyer 
in  Washington  who,  when  at  St.  Charles,  was  very  in 
timate  with  Father  Tabb,  asked  him  to  come  and  pay 

[49] 


FATHER  TABB 

him  a  visit,  but  no  —  Father  Tabb  wished  to  remember 
him  as  the  boy  he  had  loved,  and  not  to  know  him  as 
the  successful  lawyer.  In  response  to  the  invitation 
the  priest  sent  the  following : 

ALTER  IDEM 

"Tis  what  thou  wast  —  not  what  thou  art, 

Which  I  no  longer  know  — 
That  made  thee  sovereign  of  my  heart, 

And  serves  to  keep  thee  so. 

And  coulds't  thou,  coming  to  the  throne, 
Thy  Self,  unaltered,  see, 
Thou  mightst  the  occupant  disown 
And  scout  his  sovereignty! 

"At  the  beginning  and  end  of  each  summer  vaca 
tion,  ' '  quoting  again  from  Dr.  Magri,  * '  it  was  the  cus 
tom  of  Father  Tabb  to  spend  several  days  with  the 
Bishop  and  with  the  priests  at  St.  Peter's  old  Cathe 
dral  Rectory  (Richmond,  Virginia).  We  priests 
looked  eagerly  for  his  coming,  which  had  the  effect  of 
a  refreshing  breeze.  We  all  felt  spiritually  invigor 
ated  by  personal  contact  with  a  man  so  truly  great, 
who  endeavored  to  hide  his  greatness  under  the  cloak 
of  simplicity  and  even  drollery.  Arriving  at  a  house, 
after  having  earnestly  inquired  after  the  health  of 
each  one,  Father  Tabb  would  proceed  forthwith  to 
what  he  regarded  as  a  prime  duty  to  his  friends,  that 
of  putting  them  or  keeping  them  in  a  good  humor  by 

[50] 


OUTSIDE  THE  CLASSROOM 

the  narration  of  a  series  of  jokes  so  original,  so  apt  and 
so  pointed,  as  to  convulse  his  auditors  with  laughter 
and,  at  the  same  time,  excite  their  wonder.  His 
friends,  especially  in  Baltimore,  Richmond  and  other 
parts  of  Maryland  and  Virginia,  were  numerous. 
These  heartily  welcomed  him  to  their  homes  and 
looked  for  his  visits  with  the  keenest  and  most  pleas 
urable  anticipation." 

When  passing  through  Richmond  Father  Tabb 
always  visited  the  old  Westmoreland  Club  —  that 
haunt,  since  ante-bellum  days,  of  many  of  the  most 
prominent  sons  of  the  Old  Dominion.  Upon  one  occa 
sion  someone  spoke  of  "taking  a  smile"  —  the  poet- 
priest  immediately  wrote  the  following: 

"A  MAN  MAY  SMILE  AND  SMILE  AND  BE  A 
VILLAIN" 

How  far  the  lip  below  the  nose 

'Tis  difficult  to  say, 
But  every  indication  shows 
It 'smiles,  it 'smiles  away! 
With  my  compliments  to  the  Westmoreland  Club. 

This  little  verse,  ornamented  with  a  cartoon  likeness 
of  the  author,  still  hangs  in  the  Club;  the  accom 
pany  facsimile  was  secured  through  the  kindness  of 
the  late  James  C.  Martin  of  Richmond. 


[si] 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  MUSICIAN 

Reference  has  already  been  made  to  Father  Tabb's 
great  talent  and  love  for  music  —  it  had  been  al 
most  an  obsession  with  him  since  childhood.  He  had 
quite  a  reputation  as  a  pianist,  especially  in  Balti 
more  where,  when  released  from  his  college  duties, 
he  would  often  perform  for  his  friends. 

It  was  his  custom  on  bright  holy  days  when  the 
students  were  out  of  doors,  to  slip  unobserved  to  the 
grand  piano  in  the  large  recreation  hall  and  play 
to  his  heart's  content  —  usually  some  wierd  strain. 
Here  he  was  lost  to  the  world  around  him,  wholly  ab 
sorbed  in  the  wonderful  melodies  which  he  evoked. 
The  students  would  often,  at  such  times,  watch  him 
from  a  distance;  as  he  appeared  to  lose  all  knowl 
edge  of  his  surroundings,  with  his  fingers  (modeled 
after  those  of  Liszt)  running  rapidly  over  the  keys, 
his  long,  gaunt  body  swaying  with  the  melody.  We 
may  imagine  that  it  was  on  such  occasions  as  these, 
when  repeating  over  and  over  again  some  soul-stir 
ring  strain,  that  there  came  to  him  his  brightest 
poetic  fancies.  And  often  in  the  dusk  of  evening  he 
would  steal  to  the  college  music  room  where  for  hours 
he  would  fill  the  darkness  with  melody. 

[52] 


THE  MUSICIAN 

But  his  music  was  not  all  within  the  college  walls ; 
the  ripple  and  charming  lightness  of  his  piano  play 
ing  may  be  heard  in  many  of  his  poems,  and  in  others 
there  is  the  full,  tender  minor  strain  so  dear  to  his 
heart.  At  times  he  selected  for  some  literary  gem 
a  musical  theme  and  in  his  vivid  imagination  heard 
melodies  that  no  common  ear  could  discern. 

Mr.  Edwin  Litchfield  Turnbull  who  has  made 
famous  the  "Melody  from  Lanier's  Flute,"  also  set 
to  music  several  songs  written  by  Father  Tabb.  In 
a  letter  dated  November  24,  1915,  he  gave  me  a 
gem  from  the  poet's  pen,  "Somewhere,"  that  has 
never  been  published.  The  original  was  sent  to  Mr. 
Turnbull  who  still  has  it  in  his  possession.  In  writ 
ing  of  his  friendship  for  Father  Tabb,  he  says: 

"Some  time  in  1887,  as  a  small  boy  editor  of  a 
tiny  amateur  journal  called  'The  Acorn,'  I  first 
made  the  acquaintance  of  that  rare  and  sunny  nature 
in  whose  heart  there  was  always  a  particular  soft  spot 
for  boys. 

"At  the  time  Father  Tabb  was  engaged  in  coax 
ing  Latin  Grammar  into  boys  at  St.  Charles  College, 
in  Ellicott  City.  Would  that  it  had  been  my  privi 
lege  to  study  Latin  under  such  auspices  and  to  hear 
some  of  those  lessons,  sparkling  with  a  quaint  whim 
sical  humor  for  which  the  poet-priest  was  famous. 

"His  first  contribution  to  'The  Acorn'  was  an  ex 
quisite  little  poem  'The  Reaper,'  for  which  I  later 
composed  a  musical  setting;  and  then  began 

[53] 


FATHER  TABB 

a  delightful  friendship,  lasting  over  many  years.  I 
tried  my  hand  at  other  verses  of  his,  'One  April 
Morn'  and  'Lullaby  Town,'  and  always  looked  for 
ward  with  keen  delight  to  visits  from  the  author. 
Whenever  the  slim,  shy  figure  in  priestly  garb  ap 
peared  in  my  office  doorway  I  knew  that  a  rare 
treat  was  in  store  for  me,  and  business  was  speedily 
forgotten  while  Father  Tabb  talked  of  our  songs,  or 
his  Latin  Grammar,  or  Sidney  Lanier;  his  sprightly 
conversation  interspersed  with  inimitable  jokes,  which 
I  often  begged  him  to  send  to  comic  papers.  He 
could  have  made  a  fortune  writing  for  'Life'  or 
Tuck/ 

"It  was  on  the  occasion  of  one  of  these  visits  to 
my  office  that  he  spoke  of  the  quaint  melody  which 
Lanier  played  in  prison,  and  which  through  the  many 
years  since  had  haunted  his  memory.  I  almost  had 
to  drag  him  to  a  nearby  music  store,  where  I  got  a 
piano  and  took  down  the  air  as  Father  Tabb  gave  it 
to  me  from  memory,  long  years  after  those  prison 
days  which  Lanier 's  velvet-toned  flute  had  cheered 
and  softened. 

"  Sometimes  I  had  a  characteristic  note  from  him 
like  this: 

St.  Charles  College, 
Ellicot  City,  Md. 
December  9,  1899. 

Dear  Edwin: 

I  herewith  send  you  the  promised  lines,  which  I 
[54] 


THE  MUSICIAN 

hope  yon  may  wed  to  some  eligible  air,  if  you  find 
them  worth  using.    Ever  yours, 

Lovingly, 

JOHN  B.  TABB. 
Here  followed  the  lines : 

"  SOMEWHERE 

'Somewhere  beneath  the  blinding  snows — - 
A  smouldering  senser,  burns  my  rose; 
But  Love  alone  the  secret  knows 
Till  Spring  appear. 

Somewhere  in  unimagined  deeps, 
My  star,  a  radiant  dreamer,  sleeps; 
But  Love  alone  the  secret  knows, 
Till  Night  is  near." 

"And  on  another  visit  he  handed  me  a  faded,  yel 
low  MS  bearing  the  title  'Genevieve,'  saying  it  had 
lain  for  a  score  of  years  in  a  drawer  in  his  desk, 
and  that  I  might  have  it  put  to  music.  I  have 
often  wondered  since  if  'Genevieve'  were  a  ro 
mantic  chapter  out  of  the  poet's  own  life,  or  does 
it  refer  to  Coleridge's  famous  poem  of  that  name? 

"That  Father  Tabb's  beautiful  soul  was  brimming 
over  with  music  must  be  evident  to  all  who  read  the 
exquisite  lyric  gems  he  has  left  behind.  There  is 
music  in  every  line  of  verse  that  he  wrote.  I  am 

[55] 


FATHER  TABB 

more  grateful  than  I  can  say,  for  the  rich  privilege 
accorded  me  of  his  friendship.  I  can  appreciate  now 
much  more  than  I  did  in  those  days  of  boyish  en 
thusiasm  how  much  the  friendship  has  meant  to  me. 

May  Father  Tabb's  influence  for  the  nobler  things 
of  life  grow  sweeter  as  the  years  pass. ' ' 

In  speaking  of  his  great  love  for  music,  one  of 
Father  Tabb's  pupils  says  that  if  on  the  weekly  holi 
day  he  did  not  go  to  Baltimore  one  would  be  sure 
to  find  him  at  the  piano  in  the  Recreation  Hall  in- 
dulging  his  passion  for  classical  music.  His  favorite 
song  was  The  Earl  King,  which  he  even  attempted 
to  sing  in  his  thin  piping  voice.  When  seated  at  the 
piano  he  completely  lost  himself  in  rapture  and  fre 
quently  declared  that  no  musical  instrument  could 
excel  the  human  voice,  and  that  his  greatest  pleasure 
was  grand  opera  well  rendered. 

He  abhorred  the  modern  rag-time  and  would  leave 
the  room  if  any  one  began  to  play  this  class  of  music. 
Soon  after  the  pianola  was  invented  the  Pastor  of  a 
neighboring  parish  gave  a  musicale  at  the  college. 
In  deference  to  Father  Tabb,  he  began  with  a  class 
ical  selection  —  played  in  a  most  mechanical  way ; 
but  the  piece  was  hardly  begun  when  the  old  priest 
sprang  to  his  feet,  rushed  to  the  pianola,  and  ordered 
him  to  stop.  "You  are  butchering  it,"  he  cried, 
"let  me  beat  the  time  for  you!"  He  began  to  indi 
cate  the  time,  waving  his  arm,  but  the  operator  was 
utterly  unable  to  follow  him  and  after  a  few  meas 
ures  Father  Tabb  left  the  hall  in  disgust,  vow- 

[56] 


THE  MUSICIAN 

ing  that  it  it  were  in  his  power  he  would  break  up 
every  such  instrument  that  robbed  music  of  its  very 
soul. 

1  'The  Reaper"  which  was  set  to  music  by  Mr. 
Turnbull  was  very  popular  as  a  song  and  was  par 
ticularly  admired  by  Dr.  Garnett  of  the  British 
Museum  in  London. 

THE  REAPER 

Tell  me  whither,  Maiden  June, 
Down  the  dusky  slope  of  noon 
With  thy  sickle  of  a  moon, 
Goest  thou  to  reap? 

Fields  of  Fancy  by  the  stream 
Of  Night,  in  silvery  silence  gleam, 
To  heap  with  many  a  harvest-dream 
The  Granary  of  Sleep. 


[57] 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  WRITER  OF  CHILD  VERSE 

Father  Tabb  was  a  great  lover  of  children  and  on 
his  trips  through  Richmond  always  made  an  effort 
to  be  there  on  Sunday  morning  for  the  children's 
Mass  at  nine  o'clock.  He  never  seemed  happier  than 
when  addressing  them,  and  he  had  the  rare  faculty 
of  viewing  the  subjects  handled  on  such  occasions 
from  the  child's  standpoint.  When  in  the  presence 
of  children  he  seemed  literally  to  become  one  of  them ; 
his  unaffected  simplicity  of  character  made  one  feel 
that  he  must  have  been  dear  to  the  heart  of  Him 
who  said:  " Unless  ye  be  converted  and  become  as 
little  children  ye  shall  not  enter  into  the  Kingdom 
of  Heaven." 

His  volume  of  Child-Verse,  published  in  1900,  teems 
with  wit  and  humor  and  sets  a-peal  the  merry  bells 
of  childish  laughter;  some  of  his  fancies  are  unique 
indeed  and  he  makes  capital  of  the  most  unusual 
material,  but  through  all  of  the  little  poems  shines 
the  kindly  light  of  his  sunny  nature.  I  give  below 
some  of  the  most  widely  known. 

THE  BLUEBIRD 

When  God  had  made  a  host  of  them, 
One  little  flower  still  lacked  a  stem 

[58] 


THE  WRITER  OF  CHILD  VERSE 

To  bear  its  blossom  blue ; 
So  into  it  he  breathed  a  song 
And  suddenly,  with  petals  strong 

As  wings,  away  it  flew ! 

THE  TAX-GATHERER 

"And  pray,  who  are  you?" 
Said  the  violet  blue 
To  the  Bee,  with  surprise 
At  his  wonderful  size 
In  her  eye-glass  of  dew. 

"I,  madam, "  quoth  he, 
"Am  a  publican  Bee, 

Collecting  the  tax 

Of  honey  and  wax. 

Have  you  nothing  for  me  ? " 

A  LEGACY 

Do  you  remember,  little  cloud, 
This  morning  when  you  lay : — 
A  mist  along  the  river  — 
What  the  waters  had  to  say? 

And  how  the  many-colored  flowers 
That  on  the  margin  grew, 
All  promised  when  the  day  was  done 
To  leave  their  tints  to  you? 

[59] 


FATHER  TABB 
AMID  THE  ROSES 

There  was  laughter  'mid  the  roses 
For  it  was  their  natal  day ; 
And  the  children  in  the  garden  were 
As  light  of  heart  as  they. 

There  were  sighs  amid  the  roses, 

For  the  night  was  coming  on; 

And  the  children  —  weary  now  of  play  — 

Were  ready  to  be  gone. 

There  are  tears  amid  the  roses, 
For  the  children  are  asleep ; 
And  the  silence  of  the  garden  makes 
The  lonely  blossoms  weep. 

BICYCLES!  TRICYCLES! 

Bicycles !    Tricycles !    Nay,  to  shun  laughter, 
Tricycles  first,  and  Bicycles  after ; 
For  surely  the  buyer  deserves  but  the  worst 
Who  would  buy  cycles,  failing  to  try  cycles  first ! 

HIGH  AND  LOW 

A  Boot  and  a  Shoe  and  a  Slipper 

Once  lived  in  a  Cobbler's  Row: 

But  the  Boot  and  the  Shoe 

Would  have  nothing  to  do 

With  the  Slipper,  because  she  was  low. 

[60] 


THE  WRITER  OF  CHILD  VERSE 

But  the  King  and  the  Queen  and  their  Daughter 

On  the  Cobbler  chanced  to  call : 

And  as  neither  the  Boot 

Nor  the  Shoe  would  suit, 

The  Slipper  went  off  to  the  ball. 

FROG-MAKING 

Said  Frog  Papa  to  Frog  Mama, 
"Where  is  our  little  daughter ?" 
Said  Frog  Mama  to  Frog  Papa, 
"She's  underneath  the  water." 

Then  down  the  anxious  father  went, 
And  there,  indeed,  he  found  her, 
A-tickling  tadpoles,  till  they  kicked 
Their  tails  off  all  around  her ! 


THE  TRYST 

Potato  was  deep  in  the  dark  underground, 

Tomato  above  in  the  light. 

The  little  tomato  was  ruddy  and  round, 

The  little  potato  was  white. 

And  redder  and  redder  she  rounded  above, 

And  paler  and  paler  he  grew, 

And  neither  suspected  a  mutual  love 

Till  they  met  in  a  Brunswick  Stew! 

[61] 


FATHER  TABB 
THE  END  OF  IT 

A  whole-tail  dog  and  a  half-tail  dog, 
And  a  dog  without  any  tail, 
Went  all  three  out  on  an  autumn  day 
To  follow  a  red-fox  trail. 

But  the  dogs  that  carried  their  tails  along 
Fell  out,  it  is  said,  by  the  way; 
And  the  loss  of  a  tail  and  a  half  at  the  end 
Of  the  dogs,  put  an  end  to  the  fray. 

When  each,  as  a  morsel  sweet,  gulped  down 
What  had  late  been  a  neighbor's  pride, 
' '  You  've  kept  your  tails, ' '  laughed  the  no-tail  dog, 
"But  you  wear  them  now  inside!" 

A  SPY 

Sighed  the  languid  Moon  to  the  Morning  Star: 
"0  little  Maid,  how  late  you  are!" 
"I  couldn't  rise  from  my  couch,"  quoth  she, 
"While  the  Man-in-the-Moon  was  looking  at  me." 

A  LAMENT 

"0  Lady  Cloud,  why  are  you  weeping?"  I  said. 
"Because,"    she    made    answer,    "my    rain-beau    is 
dead." 

[62] 


THE  WRITER  OF  CHILD  VERSE 
FOOT-SOLDIERS 

'Tis  all  the  way  to  Toe-Town, 
Beyond  the  Knee-high  hill, 
That  Baby  has  to  travel  down 
To  see  the  soldiers  drill. 

One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  a-row  — 
A  captain  and  his  men  — 
And  on  the  other  side,  you  know, 
Are  six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten. 

THE  TIME-BROOD 
I  wonder  how  the  Mother-Hour 
Can  feed  each  hungry  Minute, 
And  see  that  every  one  of  them 
Gets  sixty  seconds  in  it; 

And  whether,  when  she  goes  abroad, 
She  knows  which  ones  attend  her; 
For  all  of  them  are  just  alike 
In  age  and  size  and  gender. 

PAINS-TAKING 

"Take  pains,"  growled  the  Tooth  to  the  Dentist; 
"The  same,"  said  the  Dentist,  "to  you." 

Then  he  added,  "No  doubt, 

Before  you  are  out 
You'll  have  taken  most  pains  of  the  two." 

[63] 


FATHER  TABB 

Father  Tabb's  feeling  for  all  children  was  deep 
and  tender,  but  the  purity  and  innocence  of  infancy 
drew  forth  some  of  his  rarest  gems  of  verse:  Sister 
Mary  Paulina  says:  "Judging  from  the  alluring 
loveliness  with  which  Babyhood  sits  enthroned  in 
Father  Tabb's  poetic  bower,  crowned  and  circled  by 
the  rosebud  vines  of  his  delicate  fancy  and  tender 
affection,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the  poet-priest 
has  found  a  part  of  his  beautitude  in  the  'divine 
nurseries'  —  surely  the  'Babe  Niva'  must  have 
welcomed  him  there: 

Niva,  child  of  innocence, 

Dust  to  dust  we  go : 

Thou,  when  Winter  wooed  thee  hence, 

Wentest  snow  to  snow." 

Other  strikingly  beautiful  thoughts  from  his  col 
lection  of  poems  on  Babyhood  are: 

AN  IDOLATER 

The  Baby  has  no  skies 

But  Mother's  eyes, 
Nor  any  God  above 

But  Mother's  love. 
His  angel  sees  the  Father's  face, 
But  he,  the  Mother's,  full  of  grace; 
And  yet  the  heavenly  kingdom  is 

Of  such  as  this. 

[64] 


THE  WRITER  OF  CHILD  VERSE 
BABY 

Baby  in  her  slumber  smiling, 

Doth  a  captive  take: 
Whispers  Love:    "From  dreams  beguiling, 

May  she  never  wake ! ' ' 

When  the  lids,  like  mist  retreating, 

Flee  the  azure  deep, 
Wakes  the  new-born  Joy,  repeating : 

* '  May  she  never  sleep ! ' ' 

A  BUNCH  OF  ROSES 

The  rosy  mouth  and  rosy  toe 

Of  little  baby  brother, 
Until  about  a  month  ago 

Had  never  met  each  other; 
But  nowadays  the  neighbors  sweet, 

In  every  sort  of  weather, 
Half  way  with  rosy  fingers  meet, 

To  kiss  and  play  together. 


[65] 


CHAPTER  IX 
TABB  AND  LANIER 

We  have  mentioned  in  a  preceding  chapter  the  close 
intimacy  which  grew  out  of  Father  Tabb  's  early  asso 
ciation  with  Sidney  Lanier;  they  were  twin-souls  — 
both  musicians  of  a  high  order,  both  ranked  among 
the  foremost  poets  of  the  Southland,  both  teachers 
of  English.  The  correspondence  of  the  two  poets  is 
a  literary  treasure  denied  the  world  of  letters.  When 
Professor  Edwin  Mims  published  his  life  of  Lanier 
he  asked  permission  to  use  the  correspondence,  but  it 
was  the  express  wish  of  Father  Tabb  that  he  should 
not ;  afterward  in  the  burning  of  St.  Charles  College, 
on  March  16,  1911,  all  of  Father  Tabb's  papers  were 
destroyed. 

He  was  not  often  in  the  Lanier  home.  During  the 
lifetime  of  his  friend,  as  in  his  later  years,  he  seldom 
left  the  scene  of  his  labors.  Mrs.  Mary  Day  Lanier, 
wife  of  the  poet,  writes  as  follows  from  her  home  in 
Greenwich,  Conn.,  under  date  of  March  15,  1915 : 

' '  Father  Tabb  was  so  voiceless  about  himself !  And 
he  was  not  much  with  us.  When  he  was,  poetry, 
music,  the  children,  his  friend  —  his  David  —  were 
his  themes.  His  brief  letters  to  me  from  1882  to  his 

[66] 


TABB  AND  LANIER 

failing  of  vision  more  often  than  not  enclosed  an 
unpublished  poem:  sometimes  craved  my  impression 
of  it. 

"I  always  loved  these  children  of  his  fancy  but 
often  could  not  shape  a  thought  in  response  to  his 
tender  need  —  for  lack  of  nerve  power/' 

In  speaking  of  a  little  collection  of  Father  Tabb's 
poems  in  her  possession,  she  says:  "These  were 
bequeathed  to  me  by  my  closest  friend  —  also  Mr. 
Lanier's  —  Miss  Sarah  Farley  of  Pennsylvania.  She 
never  met  your  uncle,  she  was  a  confirmed  invalid, 
but  through  their  common  love  for  us  and  for  all 
things  sacred,  a  deep  regard  and  tenderness  grew  up 
between  them  in  a  limited  correspondence.  Com 
passion  for  her  suffering  and  solitariness  also  drew 
his  warm  heart  towards  her.  She  was  a  great  soul 
and  he  leaned  upon  her  in  a  certain  way.  Last  June 
she  was  released  at  the  age  of  seventy-six.  You  see 
how  readily  I  could  talk  on  to  you  of  our  common 
interest.  Believe  me 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

MARY  DAY  LANIER. " 

M.  S.  Pine  (Sister  Mary  Paulina)  in  her  beautiful 
critique  on  Father  Tabb's  poems  thus  contrasts  his 
work  and  Sidney  Lanier's: 

"Their  poetic  styles  are  in  remarkable  contrast. 
Rich,  magnificent,  diffuse,  Lanier  rolls  out  his  verse 
in  great  waves  of  song,  and,  while  they  are  pervaded 

[67] 


FATHER  TABB 

with  a  highly  sensuous  beauty  and  overflowing  with 
human  sympathies,  here  and  there  you  encounter 
lofty  conceptions  of  the  greatness  of  God  which 
bring  you  to  your  knees  in  worship  and  make  mani 
fest  the  secret  of  the  bond  that  so  welded  Father 
Tabb's  soul  to  his.  But  Father  Tabb  moves  and 
breathes  in  the  heavenly  atmosphere  —  he  would 
have  everything  in  nature,  in  art,  in  life,  bring  us 
into  closer  relations  with  the  Creator,  with  the  Re 
deemer,  with  Heaven;  he  would  sow  a  seed  in  our 
heart  of  faith  heroic,  of  hope  unfading,  of  love  un 
utterable/' 

An  English  critic  says:  "It  is  interesting  to  con 
trast  the  long,  voluminous,  rushing  flow  of  Lanier 
with  the  minute,  delicately  carved  work  of  his 
countryman.  Which  is  the  greater  poet,  let  those  who 
like  giving  marks  decide;  but  Father  Tabb,  working 
within  the  limits  which  the  nature  of  his  art  invar 
iably  determines,  piping,  so  to  speak,  upon  his  flute, 
can  do  things  which  Lanier 's  great  four-manual  organ 
could  never  accomplish." 

Many  of  Father  Tabb's  poems  refer  to  Sidney 
Lanier,  and  his  first  volume  is  dedicated  thus : 

AVE :    SIDNEY  LANIER 

Ere  Time's  horizon  line  was  set, 
Somewhere  in  space  our  spirits  met, 
Then  o'er  the  starry  parapet 
Came  wandering  here. 

[68] 


TABB  AND  LANIER 

And  now  that  thou  art  gone  again 
Beyond  the  verge,  I  haste  amain 
(Lost  echo  of  a  loftier  strain) 
To  greet  thee  there. 

The  following  gems  of  thought  also  bear  reference 
to  this  beloved  friend.  For  this  we  have  Father  Tabb  's 
own  statement,  preserved  for  us  by  Father  Perrig- — 
of  whom  more  anon. 

MYSTAE 

Since  that  the  dewdrop  holds  the  star 

The  long  night  through, 
Perchance  the  satellite  afar 

Reflects  the  dew. 
And  while  thine  image  in  my  heart 

Doth  constant  shine, 
There,  haply,  in  thy  heaven  apart, 

Thou  keepest  mine. 

LOVE'S  HYBLA 

My  thoughts  fly  to  thee  as  the  bees 
To  find  their  favorite  flower; 
Then  home,  with  honeyed  memories 
Of  many  a  fragrant  hour: 

For  with  thee  is  the  place  apart, 
Where  sunshine  ever  dwells  ; 
The  Hybla,  whence  my  hoarding  heart 
Would  fill  its  wintry  cells. 

[69] 


FATHER  TABB 
TO  SIDNEY  LANIER 

The  dewdrop  holds  the  heaven  above 
Wherein  the  lark,  unseen, 
Outpours  a  rhapsody  of  love 
That  fills  the  space  between. 

My  heart  a  dewdrop  is,  and  thou, 
Dawn-spirit,  far  away, 
Fillest  the  void  between  us  now 
With  an  immortal  lay. 

ON  THE  FORTHCOMING  VOLUME  OF 
LANIER'S  POEMS 

Snow !    Snow !    Snow ! 
Do  thy  worst,  Winter,  but  know,  but  know, 
That  when  the  Spring  cometh  a  blossom  shall  blow 
From  the  heart  of  the  poet,  that  sleeps  below. 
And  his  name  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  shall  go, 

In  spite  of  the  snow ! 

IN  TOUCH 

(Published  from  the  MS  by  Dr.  Browne) 

How  slight  so  e'er  the  motion  be, 

With  palpitating  hand, 
The  greatest  breaker  of  the  sea 

Betrays  it  to  the  land. 
And  though  a  vaster  mystery 

[70] 


TABB  AND  LANIER 

Hath,  set  our  souls  apart, 
Each  wafture  from  eternity 
Betrays  thee  to  my  heart. 


The  poem  "Robin"  is  generally  supposed  te  have 
been  inscribed  to  the  little  red-breast  friend  of 
Father  Tabb,  but  not  so  —  it  was  written  and  sent 
to  Sidney  Lanier's  youngest  son,  Robin  Lanier. 

ROBIN 

Come  to  me,  Robin,  the  daylight  is  dying! 

Come  to  me  now! 

Come,  ere  the  cypress-tree  over  me  sighing, 
Dark  with  the  shadow-tide  circle  my  brow ; 
Come,  ere  oblivion  speed  to  me,  flying 

Swifter  than  thou ! 

Come  to  me,  Robin,  the  far  echoes  waken 

Cold  to  my  cry ! 

0 !  with  the  swallow- wing,  love  overtaken, 
Hence  to  the  Echo-land,  homeward,  to  fly! 
Thou  art  my  life,  Robin,  Oh !  love-forsaken, 

How  can  I  die? 

AT  LANIER'S  GRAVE 

I  stand  beneath  the  native  tree 
That  guards  the  spot  where  thou  art  laid : 
For  since  thy  light  is  lost  to  me 
I  loiter  in  the  shade. 

[71] 


FATHER  TABB 

I  lean  upon  the  rugged  stone 
As  on  the  breast  from  which  I  came, 
To  learn  'tis  not  my  heart  alone 
That  bears  thy  sacred  name. 

This  beautiful  tribute  to  his  beloved  Lanier  was 
not  published.  It  was  taken  by  Father  Perrig  from 
the  manuscript,  and  from  his  notes  we  learn  that 
Lanier 's  favorite  among  Father  T  abb's  poems  was 

THE  SHADOW 

0  Shadow,  in  thy  fleeing  form  I  see 
The  friend  of  fortune  who  once  clung  to  me. 
In  flattering  light  thy  constancy  is  shown ; 
In  darkness,  thou  wilt  leave  me  all  alone. 


[72] 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  POET 

''Poetry  is  the  blossoming  and  fragrance  of  all  hu 
man  knowledge,  human  thought,  passions,  emotions, 
language. ' ' — Coleridge. 

Shelley  defines  poetry  as  "the  record  of  the  best  and 
happiest  moments  of  the  happiest  and  best  minds," 
and  Longfellow  says:  "Beautiful  are  all  the  forms 
of  nature  when  transfigured  by  the  miraculous  power 
of  poetry." 

Any  one  of  the  above  definitions  is  a  true  exposition 
of  the  poems  of  Father  Tabb  —  in  them  our  human 
emotions  blossom  into  rarest  beauty  and  the  com 
monest  forms  of  nature  are  glorified  by  his  genius  un 
til  we  stand  transfixed  with  wonder  at  his  God-given 
gift  of  interpretation. 

Nothing,  to  him,  is  * '  common  or  unclean ; ' '  the  low 
liest  weed  that  bends  under  the  dust  of  the  roadside, 
the  tiny  blossom  of  the  wild  flower,  furnish  an  in 
spiration  which  brings  forth  such  strains  of  melody, 
such  richness  of  thought  as  pass  our  understanding. 
To  the  ordinary  man  the  goldenrod  is  but  a  common 
wild  flower  which  brightens  for  a  time  the  dullness  of 
the  fading  autumn  fields,  but  transformed  by  his  mar 
velous  imagination  we  see  it  through  his  eyes : 

[73] 


FATHER  TABB 
GOLDEN-ROD 

As  Israel,  in  days  of  old, 

Beneath  the  prophet's  rod, 
Amid  the  waters,  backward  rolled, 

A  path  triumphant  trod ; 
So,  while  thy  lifted  staff  appears 

Her  pilgrim  steps  to  guide 
The  Autumn  journeys  on,  nor  fears 

The  Winter's  threatening  tide. 

All  things  are  transformed  by  the  Midas  touch  of 
his  genius  —  and  so  clear,  so  simple,  so  powerful  is  the 
presentation  that  we  scarcely  realize  the  marvel  of  it 
all ;  his  beautiful,  brilliant  ideas  are  given  to  the  world 
with  all  the  simplicity  of  his  unassuming  child-heart 
and  until  we  stop  to  think,  to  try  to  analyze,  we  do 
not  really  appreciate  the  greatness  of  his  genius.  He 
is  so  simple,  so  lovable  in  his  verse  that  we  simply 
enjoy,  as  we  revel  in  the  unanalyzed  beauties  of  a 
spring  day. 

"In  the  literary  world,"  says  an  unknown  writer 
in  the  Baltimore  Sun,  "there  is  no  name  associated 
with  St.  Charles  College  that  has  reflected  greater 
glory  to  the  alma  mater  than  that  of  Father  Tabb, 
whose  rare  gifts  as  a  poet  are  recognized  on  both  sides 
of  the  Atlantic.  A  prominent  British  critic  some 
years  ago  placed  Father  Tabb  in  the  front  rank  of 
living  American  poets,  and  a  writer  in  the  London 
Spectator  did  not  hesitate  to  say  that  Reverend  John 

[74] 


THE  POET 

B.  Tabb  was  one  of  the  greatest  living  poets  in  the 
English  language. 

"Father  Tabb  was  the  author  of  several  small 
volumes  of  exquisite  verse  —  poems,  lyrics,  quatrains 
—  that  suggest  the  beauty  of  Keats,  the  imagination 
and  spirituality  of  Shelley  and  the  love  of  nature 
which  is  the  distinguishing  charm  of  Wordsworth. 
The  poems  are  characterized  by  a  delicate  fancy 
scarcely  surpassed  by  any  poetry  in  our  language  and 
a  depth  of  tenderness  as  rare  as  it  is  beautiful.  An 
appreciative  critic  says  of  him:  'The  many  poems 
concerning  silence,  including  the  fine  sonnet,  seem  the 
expression  of  a  hushed  awe  of  such  a  mind  in  presence 
of  a  continual  and  universal  mystery.  Life  is  a 
moment  of  sound  between  two  silences.  Yet  there 
is  no  austerity,  other  than  artistic,  no  renunciation 
or  neglect  of  the  beautiful  things  of  common  life  in 
view  of  the  ultimate  attainment  of  the  ideal.  It  is 
rather  that  through  this  asociation  with  the  eternal, 
the  things  of  this  life  gain  a  dignity  and  sweetness. '  : 

Thus  he  writes  of  death : 

TO  DEATH 

So  sweet  to  tired  mortality  the  night 

Of  life's  laborious  day, 
That  God  Himself,  o'erwearied  of  the  light, 

Within  its  shadow  lay. 

In  certainty  of  the  future  could  faith  be  more  ex 
quisitely  expressed  than  in  this  poemf 

[75] 


FATHER  TABB 

EVOLUTION 

Out  of  the  dusk  a  shadow, 

Then  a  spark; 
Out  of  the  cloud  a  silence, 

Then  a  lark ; 
Out  of  the  heart  a  rapture, 

Then  a  pain; 
Out  of  the  dead,  cold  ashes, 

Life  again! 

Beneath  this  Father  Perrig  wrote:  "He  sums  up 
our  nineteenth  century  philosophy" — Price, 

Nazareth,  N.  C. 

The  "Price"  here  quoted  is  Father  Price,  a  friend 
of  Father  Tabb.  • 

The  poems  of  Father  Tabb  are  never  long.  Someone 
has  likened  them  to  flute-notes  clear  and  sweet,  as  com 
pared  to  the  rich,  deep  organ-tones  of  Sidney  Lanier's 
verse.  There  are  quatrains  that  like  a  dewdrop  reflect 
the  whole  of  heaven.  Gems  of  thought  they  most  truly 
are,  and  in  lyric  quality  unexcelled. 

They  interpret  the  human  heart  with  unerring 
sympathy  and  love,  and  nature  with  a  peculiarly  deli 
cate  fancy  and  striking  imagery;  yet  he  retains, 
withal,  the  beautiful  simplicity  which  ever  marks  his 
life,  his  genius,  his  faith.  What  airy  imagining  is 
here: 

[76] 


THE  POET 

PHANTOMS 

Are  ye  the  ghosts  of  fallen  leaves, 

0  flakes  of  snow, 
For  which,  through  naked  limbs,  the  winds 

A-mourning  go  ? 
Or  are  ye  angels,  bearing  home 

The  host  unseen 
Of  truant  spirits  to  be  clad 

Again  in  green  ? 

One  of  the  most  valuable  sources  of  information  re 
garding  the  more  intimate  side  of  Father  Tabb's 
writings  is  a  collection  of  notes  made  by  the  late 
Reverend  Joseph  M.  Perrig.  It  is  seldom  that  a 
biographer  has  access  to  material  such  as  this;  these 
notes  were  made  in  Father  Tabb  's  volumes,  and  made 
with  no  thought  but  to  throw  light  on  some  point 
which,  without  explanation  from  the  author,  lost  a 
great  deal  of  its  force  or  beauty.  This  is  truly  first 
hand  information,  the  poet 's  own  interpretation  of  his 
work. 

Father  Perrig  was  a  native  of  Switzerland  who 
came  to  Virgina  when  a  boy  and,  after  teaching  in 
Richmond  for  several  years,  entered  St.  Charles  Col 
lege.  He  was  older  than  the  average  student,  being 
in  his  twenty-fourth  year  when  he  began  his  course. 
He  was  gentle,  unselfish  and  lovable  in  disposition  and 
(partly  owing  to  the  fact  that  he  was  from  Virginia) 
he  enjoyed  a  close  friendship  with  the  poet-priest. 

[77] 


FATHER  TABB 

His  more  mature  mind  appreciated  the  great  value  of 
the  explanations  which  Father  Tabb  gave  many  of 
his  poems  and  he  jotted  them  down  in  the  proper 
place,  i.  e.,  under  the  poem  discussed  by  Father  Tabb. 

Father  Perrig's  ministry  covered  a  period  of  only 
eleven  years;  at  his  death,  in  December,  1913,  he  be 
queathed  his  books  to  Reverend  Thomas  Rankin  and 
among  them  were  the  two  annotated  volumes  of  Father 
Tabb 's  poems,  the  only  authentic  record  extant,  I  dare 
say,  of  the  priest's  own  expressions  regarding  hia 
works.  Treasures  indeed  are  these  little  volumes! 
Through  them  we  gain  an  insight  into  the  heart  and 
mind  of  the  poet  which  but  for  his  student's  keen 
discernment  of  their  great  value  would  have  been  for 
ever  lost  to  the  world. 

Many  of  Father  Tabb's  friends  and  admirers  tell 
of  the  magic  quickness  of  his  mind,  of  the  brilliant 
epigram  or  the  witty  pun  uttered  on  the  inspiration 
of  the  moment,  but  from  Father  Perrig  alone  we 
learn  that  he  spent  years  of  thought  and  labor  on  some 
of  his  verses.  For  instance : 

DEUS  ABSCONDITUS 

My  God  has  hid  himself  from  me 
Behind  whatever  else  I  see : 
Myself  —  the  nearest  mystery  — 
As  far  beyond  my  grasp  as  He. 

And  yet,  in  darkest  night,  I  know 
While  lives  a  doubt-discerning  glow 


THE  POET 

That  larger  lights  above  it  throw 
These  shadows  on  the  vale  below. 

The  first  four  lines  were  written  in  1892;  Father 
Tabb  then  worked  on  the  other  four  lines  until 
March,  1896. 

"His  longest  poem,  'Ruin,'  "  says  Father  Perrig, 
"not  yet  printed  and  which  he  read  to  me  on  June  10, 
1897,  is  the  fruit  of  seventeen  years  of  his  thoughts 
and  works. ' ' 

"Ruin"  was  not  included  in  any  of  Father  Tabb's 
published  works  and,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to 
discover,  was  never  given  to  the  world. 

These  annotations  also  give  an  insight  into  the  poet's 
attitude  towards  his  work:  under  the  poem — 

THE  SECRET 

'Tis  not  what  I  am  fain  to  hide 
That  doth  in  deepest  darkness  dwell, 
But  what  my  tongue  hath  often  tried 
Alas,  in  vain,  to  tell  — 

we  find  the  following:  "Father  Tabb's  favorite!  He 
says  if  we  are  sad  we  do  not  feel  like  talking.  We  are 
not  able  to  give  expression  to  our  thoughts  of  pleasure 
or  sadness,  for  as  soon  as  we  begin  to  talk  we  break  the 
thread  of  thought." 

[79] 


FATHER  TABB 
Another  favorite  of  his  is 

THE  SLEEPING  BEAUTY 

The  sculptor  in  the  marble  found 
Her  hidden  from  the  world  around, 

As  in  a  donjon  keep : 
With  gentle  hand  he  took  away 
The  coverlet  that  o  'er  her  lay, 

But  left  her  fast  asleep. 

And  still  she  slumbers;  e'en  as  he 
Who  saw  in  far  futurity 

What  now  before  us  lies  — 
The  fairest  vision  that  the  stream 
Of  night,  subsiding,  leaves  agleam 

Beneath  the  noonday  skies. 

The  day  after  the  death  of  his  ward,  Edward  J. 
Carroll,  on  October  24,  1902,  Father  Tabb  wrote  the 
following  —  which  was  never  published: 

UNITED 

Here  buried  side  by  side 
We  long  have  waited  with  between  us  two 
A  place  for  you. 

The  Powers  of  Darkness  tried 
To  chill  our  hearts  to  ashes;  but  behold 
They  grew  not  cold. 

[80] 


THE  POET1 

You  journey  far  and  wide; 
Our  eyes  were  on  you  till  they  turned  your  way 
To  where  we  lay. 

Henceforth,  all  fate  defied, 
Our  kindred  dust  commingling,  three  in  one  — 
We  slumber,  son. 

' '  The  best  of  my  work,  according  to  my  judgment, : 


LIMITATION 

Beneath,  above  me,  or  below ; 
Never  can'st  thou  farther  go 
Than  the  spirit's  octave-span, 
Harmonizing  God  and  Man. 

Thus  within  the  iris-bound, 
Light,  a  prisoner,  is  found ; 
Thus  within  my  soul  I  see 
Life  in  Time's  captivity. " 

One  of  the  professors  at  St.  Charles  College,  Father 
Charles  Judge,  wrote  a  life  of  his  brother,  Father  W. 
Judge,  S.  J.,  an  Alaskan  Missionary.  The  dedication 
of  the  volume  was  written  by  Father  Tabb : 

HIS  MISSION 

'Twas  not  for  gain  of  glittering  gold  he  trod 
Alaska's  frozen  loin; 

[81] 


FATHER  TABB 

Nay,  but  the  superscription  of  their  God 
On  colder  hearts  to  coin ! 

One  of  the  poet's  favorite  haunts  was  a  beautiful 
lane  in  the  College  grounds,  known  as  the  Rose  Walk ; 
on  a  Spring  day,  while  loitering  here  he  wrote  on  a 
scrap  of  paper 

THE  DANDELION 

With  locks  of  gold  today, 
Tomorrow  silver-gray; 
Then  blossom-bald.    Behold, 
0  Man,  thy  fortune  told! 

Just  opposite  the  College  stood  "The  Manor/'  a 
magnificent  place,  the  home  of  Charles  Carroll  of 
Carrollton,  now  occupied  by  his  descendants.  Father 
Tabb  often  spent  hours  in  The  Manor  woods  and  upon 
one  of  these  rambles  wrote : 

TO  A  WOOD-ROBIN 

Lo,  where  the  blossoming  woodland  wakes 

From  wintry  slumbers  long, 
Thy  heart,  a  bud  of  silence,  breaks 

To  ecstasy  of  song. 

Since  all  truly  great  natures  retain  the  simplicity 
and  heart  of  childhood  along  with  the  attainments  of 
manhood,  so  Father  Tabb,  like  Eugene  Field  and 

[82] 


THE  POET 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  rejoiced  in  a  whimsical,  merry 
and  frolicsome  side  of  his  nature.  This  is  exemplified 
in  his  volume  of  Child  Verse  and  in  '*  Quips  and 
Quiddits,"  published  in  1907. 

His  views  on  the  woman  question  were  stated  with 
finality  when  he  wrote,  as  far  back  as  1897 : 

WOMAN 

Shall  she  come  down,  and  on  our  level  stand? 
Nay,  God  forbid  it!    May  a  Mother's  eyes  — 
Love 's  earliest  home,  the  heaven  of  babyland  — 
Still  bend  above  us  as  we  rise ! 

Father  Perrig  has  the  following  written  just  be 
neath  this  verse : 

' '  Every  woman  ought  to  learn  this  by  heart  and  re 
flect  on  it  deeply  —  imagine  a  woman  mayor  or 
sheriff!" 

Some  of  Father  Tabb  's  best  poems  and  some  of  his 
most  brilliant  sallies  were  written  in  his  post-card 
correspondence  with  his  literary  associates  and 
friends.  One  of  the  cleverest  and  most  timely  of  these 
"hits"  was  the  verse  written  when  there  was  a  ques 
tion  raised  as  to  Poe's  right  to  a  place  in  the  hall  of 
fame: 

EXCLUDED 

Into  the  charnel  hall  of  fame 
The  dead  alone  should  go. 
Then  write  not  there  the  living  name 
Of  Edgar  Allen  Poe. 

[83] 


FATHER  TABB 

About  this  same  time  he  expressed  his  opinion  of 
the  members  of  the  Senate  who  rendered  the  decision 
against  Poe: 

If  Harry  Thurston  Peck  at  Poe, 
His  Peck-ability  to  show, 
'Tis  well  for  him  that  such  a  foe 
No  longer  can  return  the  blow. 

And  upon  the  occasion  of  the  Poe  Centenary  he  re 
vised  the  above  so  that  it  read: 

His  Peck-ability  to  show 

Let  Harry  Thurston  Peck  at  Poe, 

And  thank  his  stars  like  Matthews,  Brander, 

That  Poe  is  silent  now  to  slander, 

Or  by  the  scourge  with  which  they  score  him, 

He'd  make  them  bite  the  dust  before  him. 

In  the  Poe  Room  at  the  University  of  Virginia  is  the 
framed  autograph  copy  of  the  following : 

TO  EDGAR  ALLEN  POE 
On  the  Fiftieth  Anniversary  of  His  Death. 

Dead  fifty  years?    Not  so, 
Nay,  fifty  years  ago 
Death,  obloquy  and  spite, 
To  curse  his  ashes  came. 
But  lo,  the  living  light 
Beneath  the  breath  of  shame 
Indignant,  spurned  the  night, 
And  withered  them  in  flame. 

[84] 


THE  POET 

Father  Tabb,  although  a  good  deal  of  a  recluse,  was 
a  keen  observer  of  current  events  and  took  a  great 
interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  world  in  general.  He  was 
keenly  alive  to  political  situations  and  occasionally 
gave  vent  to  his  feelings  on  the  subject  in  such  pro 
ductions  as 

THE  UNITED  STATES  TO  THE  FILIPINOS 

We've  come  to  give  you  Liberty 
To  do  what  'er  we  choose ; 
Or  clean  extermination, 
If  you  venture  to  refuse. 

or  in  what  he  facetiously  called  "a  sneeze,"  in  which 
he  did  not  hesitate  to  criticise  any  person,  party  or 
country  if  he  saw  fit. 

Upon  the  occasion  of  the  lynching  of  a  negro  which 
took  place  in  Delaware,  he  wrote  the  following  re 
markable  play  upon  words: 

Were  Harriet  Beecher  well-aware 
Of  what  was  done  in  Delaware, 
Of  that  unwholesome  smell-aware, 
She'd  make  all  heaven  and  hell-aware; 
And  ask  John  Brown  to  tell-her-where 
Henceforth  she  best  might  sell-her-ware ! 

An  editorial  in  one  of  the  Richmond,  Virginia,  pa 
pers  at  the  time  of  the  poet's  death  spoke  of  him  as 
follows:  " Father  John  Bannister  Tabb  was  a  very 


FATHER  TABB 

remarkable  person.  He  was  a  born  man  of  the  world, 
good  fellow,  poet  and  philosopher,  consistently  and 
sincerely  consecrated  to  religious  service. 

"No  sweeter  or  more  genial  character  than  his  ever 
gladdened  a  wide  circle  of  friends.  He  loved  laughter 
and  fun  and  was  a  born  humorist,  but  he  knew  when 
to  be  serious,  and  deep  and  tender  sympathy  and 
beautiful  sentiment  lay  close  beneath  the  surface  of  his 
humor.  He  did  not  know  how  to  be  coarse  or  harsh. 
He  loved  the  pleasures  of  life  while  its  pain  stirred 
the  very  depths  of  his  being  to  affectionate  and  helpful 
response. ' ' 

He  was  a  man  of  brilliant  talent.  Under  date  of 
November  22,  1896,  Edmund  C.  Stedman  wrote 
Professor  Thomas  R.  Price  acknowledging  receipt  of 
what  he  called  "the  exquisitely  printed,  feelingly 
written  appreciation  of  Virginia's  flawless  lyrist, 
Father  Tabb,"  as  follows: 

"I  know  of  no  other  modern  songster  who  puts  so 
much  spontaneous  feeling  into  the  brief  carols,  of 
which  the  art  is  as  unobtrusive  as  it  is  perfect;  for 
they  have  the  brevity  and  unity  of  the  antique  and  the 
soul  of  Christendom." 

This,  most  appropriately  and  comprehensively  de 
scribes  much  of  Father  Tabb 's  poetry.  He  often  said 
that  many  so-called  poems  of  great  length  contain 
much  that  is  not  true  poetry.  "It  is  almost  impos 
sible,  ' '  he  would  say, ' l  ordinarily  speaking,  to  keep  up 
the  true  poetic  vein  throughout  a  long  poem.'* 

Many  think  that  amongst  the  English  poets  Father 

[86] 


THE  POET 

Tabb  has  not  been  surpassed  in  his  power  of  con 
densing  "multum  in  parvo."  His  conception  of  the 
true  poet  is  set  forth  in  his  oft-quoted  lines : 

TO  A  SONGSTER 

0  little  bird,  I'd  be 
A  poet  like  to  thee; 
Singing  my  native  song, 
Short  to  the  ear,  but  long 
To  love  and  memory. 

Allusion  has  been  made  to  Father  Tabb 's  poems  on 
silence :  a  masterly  critic  in  the  London  Times  remarks 
of  the  poem  "To  Silence:"  "Grandeur  can  not  be 
achieved  in  six  lines  by  grandiloquence.  In  the  im 
mensity  of  what  it  suggests,  the  vast  silence  out  of 
which  it  wakes  and  into  which  it  fades,  that  poem  is 
undeniably  grand. " 

Dr.  William  Hand  Browne  in  his  sketch  of  Father 
Tabb  in  the  Library  of  Southern  Literature  thus  char 
acterizes  him  as  a  poet : 

"Father  Tabb's  poems  are  all  short,  few  extending 
beyond  the  limits  of  a  sonnet,  while  many  are  still 
briefer,  a  favorite  form  being  the  quatrain. 

"Many  poets  when  they  seize  a  thought  are  apt  to 
expand  and  develop  it  as  a  musician  develops  a  theme : 
Tabb  condenses  it,  many  of  his  poems  consisting  of  a 
single  simile  or  metaphor  expressed  in  perfect  phrase. 
Critics  have  aptly  called  them  "cameos" — the  most 
delicate  art  in  the  smallest  compass.  Bounded  and 

[87] 


FATHER  TABB 

complete,  they  are  like  dewdrops  on  the  jewel- weed, 
each  perfect  and  each  distinct.  In  their  tenderness 
and  simplicity  they  remind  one  of  Simonides  or  Mel- 
eager;  but  the  faith  of  the  Christian  gives  a  depth 
which  the  pagan  could  not  attain.  For  the  Greek  poet 
there  was  nothing  beyond  —  no  symbolism  of  a  life 
beyond  the  veil.  Tender  memories  remained,  but  the 
threads  of  sympathy  broke  off  at  the  grave. 

"Father  Tabb,  like  Wordsworth,  is  a  poet  of  nature, 
but  he  does  not  lose  himself  in  the  vision.  Lovely  in 
themselves,  to  him  the  aspects  of  nature  are  far  more 
lovely  as  symbols.  To  him,  as  to  Berkeley,  nature  is 
a  language  in  which  God  speaks  to  man,  the  poet  being 
the  interpreter.  And  the  nature  which  is  ever  present 
to  his  memory  is  that  of  his  native  Virginia  —  its 
gentle  hills,  wild  expanses  and  "smooth-sliding'' 
streams;  its  trees  and  flowers  and  birds.  Who  that 
has  ever  heard  the  unforgettable  call  of  the  killdee  at 
twilight,  or  the  liquid  fluting  of  the  wood-robin,  will 
not  feel  his  heart  swell  as  the  poet  brings  them  back  to 
memory?  So  intimate  are  they  that  one  doubts 
whether  any  reader  can  feel  the  full  beauty  of  these 
nature-touches  who  does  not  know  the  land  that  in 
spired  them." 

On  one  occasion  at  the  Virginia  Hot  Springs, 
Father  Tabb  met  a  grandson  of  Mr.  Garland  Talia- 
ferro  whom  he  had  known  years  before  in  his  native 
county.  He  sent  him,  through  his  grandson,  the  auto 
graph  copy  of  the  following : 

[88] 


THE  POET 

TO  A  VIRGINIAN  AT  THE  HOT  SPRINGS 

Nurtured  upon  my  Mother's  knee, 

From  this,  her  mountain  breast,  apart; 
Here  nearer  heaven  I  seem  to  be, 

And  closer  to  her  heart. 
"With  my  compliments  to  my  old  Amelia  neighbor, 

Garland  Taliaferro." 

But  beautiful  as  is  the  symbol  to  Father  Tabb,  it 
is  not  the  symbol  but  the  suggested  thought  that  is 
the  poem.  For  instance : 

DEEP  UNTO  DEEP 

Where  limpid  waters  lie  between 
There  only  heaven  to  heaven  is  seen; 
Where  flows  the  tide  of  mutual  tears, 
There  only  heart  to  heart  appears. 

The  poet  is  not  one,  however,  who  simply  seizes  a 
delicate  fancy  and  clothes  it  with  beautiful  imagery; 
his  little  poems  seem,  in  a  way,  detached,  but  through 
them  all  runs  a  subtle  but  profound  philosophy,  a 
philosophy  felt,  not  formulated.  St.  Francis  claims 
brotherhood  with  the  birds  and  beasts  and  inanimate 
objects  of  nature  —  Father  Tabb  likewise  felt  a  kin 
ship  with  all  things,  the  wood-robin  and  the  tender 
violet  are  not  simply  objects  to  be  perceived  through 
the  senses;  they  are,  like  ourselves,  children  of  the 
Divine  Father  and  dear  to  His  heart. 

Just  as  Father  Tabb  shunned  all  that  was  harsh  or 

[89] 


FATHER  TABB 

coarse  so  he  delighted  in  all  that  was  cheery,  tender 
and  gentle  —  his  optimism  was  beautiful  and  his  ten 
derness  enveloped  and  softened  pain  and  sorrow. 
One  of  the  best  known  of  his  poems  (printed  in  every 
American  anthology)  is  the  exquisitely  tender  and 
comforting  one  sent  to  a  bereaved  mother: 

CONFIDED 

Another  lamb,  0  Lamb  of  God,  behold, 

Within  this  quiet  fold, 

Among  Thy  Father's  sheep, 

I  lay  to  sleep  ! 

A  heart  that  never  for  a  night  did  rest 

Beyond  its  mother's  breast. 

Lord,  keep  it  close  to  Thee, 

Lest  waking,  it  should  bleat  and  pine  for  me ! 

What  Father  Tabb  wrote  came  from  a  heart  that 
knew  and  felt  the  deeper  things  of  life,  but  his  songs 
did  not  express  the  whole  of  what  he  felt ;  only  now 
and  then  through  a  verse,  or  even  through  a  single 
line,  the  deeper  nature  freed  itself  —  and  the  melody 
grew  luminous  with  feeling  and  with  undreamed  of 
depths  of  understanding  and  meaning. 

"The  lapidary  among  song-makers"  someone  once 
called  him  —  he  was  willing  to  heed  Wordsworth 's  ad 
vice  ' '  to  shine  in  his  place  and  be  content. ' '  He  found 
his  themes  in  the  birds  and  flowers  around  him,  in  the 
loves  and  joys  and  sorrows  of  those  with  whom  he 

[90] 


THE  POET 

associated,  and  above  all  in  his  deep  devotion  to  all 
things  sacred.  "He  saw  the  spiritual  in  the  natural 
and  naturally  voiced  the  spiritual." 

To  a  friend  he  once  confided  that  the  poetic  vision 
descended  upon  him  like  a  direct  gift  from  God  at  a 
moment  when,  following  the  war,  he  did  not  know 
where  to  turn.  He  portrays  his  idea  of  poetry  as 

A  gleam  of  heaven ;  the  passion  of  a  star 
Held  captive  in  the  clasp  of  harmony; 

A  silence,  shell  like,  breathing  from  afar, 
The  rapture  of  the  deep,  eternity. 

He  felt  a  close  kinship  with  all  the  manifestations 
of  nature,  he  loved  them  for  their  purity,  for  their 
delicate  beauty  which  invariably  appealed  to  his  ar 
tist's  eye,  for  the  lessons  they  taught;  the  emotions 
they  aroused,  the  enthusiasms  they  inspired  and  their 
symbolism  of  all  things  innocent  and  pure. 

The  lark,  the  wood-robin,  the  rose,  the  lily,  the 
humble  dandelion  and  blackberry  vine,  the  pink  clover 
and  the  white  jessamine  had  each  its  message  for  him 
and  through  him  to  all  lovers  of  nature.  One  of  the 
most  attractive,  strong  and  original  of  his  verses  is 

WOOD  GRAIN 

This  is  the  way  that  the  sap-river  ran 
From  the  root  to  the  top  of  the  tree  — 

Silent  and  dark 

Under  the  bark, 

[91] 


FATHER  TABB 

Working  a  wonderful  plan 
That  the  leaves  never  know 
And  the  branches  that  grow 
On  the  brink  of  the  tide  never  see. 

In  speaking  of  his  poem  "The  Young  Tenor/' 
Father  Tabb  said:  "this  came  to  me  while  spending 
a  night  at  the  Brothers'  Home  in  Richmond.  I  was 
asleep,  when  I  was  awakened  by  a  beautiful  tenor 
voice  singing  in  the  house  opposite.  He  stopped  as  I 
awoke  but  his  voice  rang  in  my  ears  for  years.  One 
night  I  stayed  at  a  friend's  house  near  Sixth  and 
Leigh  Streets  in  Richmond,  when  I  heard  another 
singer  who,  in  moving  along,  sang.  It  was  magnifi 
cent.  I  was  enabled  to  give  expression  to  my  long 
confined  thought. ' '  When  asked  in  this  connection  if 
it  was  hard  for  him  to  get  a  thought,  Father  Tabb 
replied:  "No,  it  is  harder  to  get  rid  of  a  thought 
when  it  comes!" 

THE  YOUNG  TENOR 

I  woke ;  the  harbored  melody 

Had  crossed  the  slumber  bar, 

And  out  upon  the  open  sea 

Of  consciousness,  afar 

Swept  onward  with  a  fainter  strain 

As  echoing  the  dream  again. 

So  soft  the  silver  sound,  and  clear 

Outpoured  upon  the  night, 

[92] 


THE  POET 

That  Silence  seemed  a  listener 
0  'erleaning  with  delight 
The  slender  moon,  a  finger-tip 
Upon  the  portal  of  her  lip. 


Another  interesting  explanation,  given  by  Father 
Tabb  to  Father  Perrig  in  his  student  days  is  that  of 
the  poem 


GIULIO 

Father ! "  —  the  trembling  voice  betrayed 

The  troubled  heart;  "Be  not  afraid," 

I  softly  answered  —  "Woe  is  me!" 

Dead  unto  all  but  misery! 

And  yet,  a  child  of  innocence 

Is  mine  —  a  son,  unknowing  whence 

His  origin  —  whom,  unaware 

As  with  an  angel's  watchful  care, 

Thy  gentle  hand  hath  guided.    Now 

He  waits  the  consecrating  vow 

Of  priesthood,  and  to-morrow  stands 

A  Levite,  with  uplifted  hands 

To  bless  thee.    May  a  mother  dare 

To  look  upon  that  face,  and  share, 

Unseen,  the  blessing  of  her  son? 

Deny  me  not.     So  be  it  done 

To  thee  in  thy  last  agony 

As  thou  now  doest  unto  me ! " 

[93] 


FATHER  TABB 

She  had  her  will.    Secluded  there 
Within  the  cloistered  place  of  prayer 
She  saw,  and  wept ;  then,  all  unknown, 
Shrunk  back  into  the  world,  alone. 

Days  passed.    A  winter's  cheerless  morn 
With  summons  came.    A  soul  forlorn 
Craved  help  in  danger  imminent ; 
And,  Christlike,  on  his  mission  went 
The  new  annointed. 

" Strange/'  he  said 
"The  gleams,  like  inspiration,  shed 
Upon  the  dying!    There  she  lay, 
Poor  reprobate!    life's  stormy  day 
In  clouds  departing.     Suddenly, 
As  from  a  trance,  beholding  me, 
'Giulio!  hast  thou  come?'  she  cried, 
And  with  her  arms  about  me,  died." 

He  wondered ;  and  I  turned  away, 
Lest  tears  my  secret  should  betray. 

A  fallen  woman,  on  her  deathbed,  recognizes  in  the 
priest  her  son  —  only  a  supposition  on  the  part  of  the 
poet. 

The  reprobate  here  mentioned  was  a  young  woman 
from  Richmond,  Virginia,  who  lost  her  husband  soon 
after  the  birth  of  her  son  and  fell  deeper  and  deeper. 
The  child  never  knew  his  mother  but  was  educated  by 
his  paternal  uncle,  the  Protestant  Bishop  of  Kentucky. 

[94] 


THE  POET 

The  boy  was  not  a  Catholic,  but  the  poet  fancies  him 
to  have  become  a  priest,  or  rather  that  he  might  have 
become  had  the  uncle  been  a  Catholic  Bishop. 
"Father  Tabb  assured  me,"  said  Father  Perrig,  "that 
the  parents  of  this  child  were  the  most  beautiful 
couple  he  ever  saw." 

In  speaking  of  his  floral  lyrics,  Sister  Mary  Paulina 
says:  "It  is  hard  to  restrain  the  temptation  to  cull 
more  of  the  poet's  dainty  Flora,  for  it  is  a  royal 
garden  in  which  Father  Tabb's  muse  disports,  and 
she  has  a  loving  glance  and  a  lyric  for  all  the  rain 
bow  children  of  the  sun,  yea,  even  for  the  'Wild 
Flowers'  that  strew  the  woods  beyond  the  crystal 
gate." 

Dr.  William  Hand  Browne  gives  several  poems 
which  were  not  included  in  the  published  volumes  of 
the  priest  —  among  those  taken  directly  from  the 
manuscript  are  the  following: 

DEPRECIATION 

Now,  I  listen  in  my  grave 
For  a  silence  soon  to  be, 
When,  a  slow-receding  wave  — 

Hushed  is  memory. 
Now  the  falling  of  a  tear, 
Or  the  breathing,  half-suppressed, 
Of  a  sigh,  re-echoed  here, 

Holds  me  from  my  rest. 
0  ye  breakers  of  the  past, 

[95] 


FATHER  TABB 

From  the  never-resting  deep 
On  the  coast  of  Silence  cast, 
Cease,  and  let  me  sleep ! 

BEYOND 

The  Eiver  to  the  Sea, 

In  language  of  the  Land, 

Interpreter  would  be 

Of  life  beyond  the  strand. 

Of  billowy  heights  that  never  fall 

When  Winds  have  gone  their  way, 

Of  waving  forests,  dark  and  tall, 

Of  flocks,  and  herds,  and  fertile  vales, 

Of  warbling  birds  and  blossom-spray 

That  scents  the  wandering  gales. 

Alas !   'tis  all  a  mystery ! 

She  does  not  understand. 

DUSK 

Alone  I  am,  but  lonelier 

The  Twilight  seems  to  be ; 
The  lengthening  Shadows  leading  her 

To  human  sympathy. 

No  word,  but  a  mysterious  clue 

To  feelings  deeper  far, 
She  fashions  in  the  trembling  dew, 

And  in  the  steadfast  star. 

[96] 


THE  POET 

MATINS 
Still  sing  the  Morning  Stars  remote 

With  echoes  now  unheard, 
Save  in  the  scintillating  note 

Of  some  dawn-wakened  bird. 

Whose  heart  —  a  fountain  in  the  light  — 

Prolongs  the  limpid  strain 
Till  on  the  borderland  of  Night, 

The  Stars  begin  again. 

A  TRYSTING  PLACE 

As  stars  amid  the  darkness  seen, 
When  flows  the  deepening  dawn  between 

To  cover  them  from  sight, 
O'erleap  the  spaces  of  the  dark, 
And,  spark  to  quickening  sister-spark, 

Commingle  in  the  light; 

E'en  so  a  solitary  way 

Do  we,  Beloved,  day  by  day, 

In  weariness  and  pain, 
Climb  desolate  from  steep  to  steep, 
Till  in  the  shadowy  Yale  of  Sleep 

Our  spirits  blend  again. 

The  work  left  by  Father  Tabb,  taken  as  a  whole, 
forms  a  wonderful  kaleidoscope :  along  with  the  bright 
tints  of  his  humor  and  gentle  satire  there  blend  the 

[97] 


FATHER  TABB 

soft  colors  of  his  thoughts  as  expressed  concerning  the 
birds,  the  flowers,  the  children ;  the  sombre  tones  of  his 
more  grave  and  stately  themes,  his  sonnets;  and  the 
pure  radiance  of  his  religious  and  spiritual  songs. 

No  poet  of  his  age  is  so  varied  as  to  the  style  and 
subject  of  his  verse  and  yet  each  and  every  gem  bears 
plainly  stamped  upon  it  the  image  and  superscription 
of  his  wonderful,  magnetic  personality.  His  love,  his 
sympathy,  his  joyousness,  and  his  deep  reverence  for 
all  things  sacred  are  the  heritage  he  has  left  to  the 
lovers  of  pure  song.  The  power  possessed  by  the  poet- 
priest  to  bring  out  the  beauty  of  the  small  and  gen 
erally  considered  insignificant  things  of  nature  is  well 
known.  His  fame  is  steadily  on  the  increase  and  for 
many  years  he  has  been  as  widely  read  and  as  deeply 
appreciated  in  England  and  on  the  Continent  as  in 
America. 

Dr.  Browne  says:  "Poetry  of  this  kind  demands  a 
very  refined  and  delicate  technique,  and  that  of 
Father  Tabb,  within  his  self-imposed  limits,  seems 
absolutely  perfect.  He  attempts  no  innovations  or 
audacities ;  his  measures  and  rhythms  are  simple  and 
familiar.  The  phrase  is  always  the  right  phrase,  which 
can  not  be  bettered;  the  diction  is  pure,  direct  and 
noble. 

' '  The  poet  Herrick,  whose  best  work  in  delicacy  and 
felicity  of  phrase  is  not  unlike  Father  Tabb's,  was 
also  threatened  with  loss  of  sight,  and  cheerfully  al 
ludes  to  his  failing  vision: 

[98]. 


THE  POET 

1 '  I  begin  to  wane  in  sight  — 
Shortly  I  shall  bid  good-night; 
Then  no  gazing  more  about, 
When  the  tapers  all  are  out." 

*  *  Father  Tabb  bears  his  privation  with  equal  seren 
ity,  but  with  graver  thought,  as  shown  by  the  quatrain 
called 

A  PRAYER  IN  DARKNESS 

The  day  is  nearer  unto  night 

Than  to  another  day; 
If  closer  to  Thee,  Lord  of  Light, 

In  darkness  let  me  stay. 

It  has  been  said  that  trying  to  make  selections  from 
Father  Tabb's  poems  is  like  culling  a  posy  from  a 
patch  of  wood- violets  —  those  we  leave  always  seem 
bluer  than  those  we  have  taken.  But  I  think  the  fol 
lowing  may  be  regarded  as  representative  in  char 
acter  : 

THE  RING 

Hold  the  trinket  near  thine  eye 
And  it  circles  earth  and  sky; 
Place  it  further  and,  behold, 
But  a  fingers-breadth  of  gold. 

'Tis  thus  our  lives,  Beloved,  lie 
Ringed  in  love's  fair  boundary; 

[99] 


FATHER  TABS 

Place  it  further  and  its  sphere 
Measures  but  a  falling  tear. 

In  speaking  of  his  little  song,  "The  Half-Ring 
Moon, '  *  Father  Tabb  laughingly  said  that  it  was  * '  ten 
years  a-coming ! ' ' 

THE  HALF-RING  MOON 

Over  the  sea,  over  the  sea, 
My  love  he  is  gone  to  a  far  countrie; 
But  he  brake  a  golden  ring  with  me, 

A  pledge  of  his  love  to  be. 

Over  the  sea,  over  the  sea, 
He  comes  no  more  from  the  far  countrie; 
But  where  the  young  moon  used  to  be, 

There  hangs  the  half  of  a  ring  for  me. 

The  priest  heard  that  a  young  girl  had  died  in  a 
house  near  Ellicott  City  on  a  certain  night.  As  he 
passed  the  place  in  his  walk  the  next  evening  he  saw 
a  jessamine  creeping  up  the  walls,  which  suggested 
the  following  poem.  He  wrote  it  then  and  there  on  a 
piece  of  loose  paper,  his  foot  on  a  rock,  the  paper  on 
his  knee  and  an  umbrella  over  him  —  as  it  was  rain 
ing  hard. 

THE  WHITE  JESSAMINE 

I  knew  she  lay  above  me, 
Where  the  casement  all  the  night 

[100] 


THE  FOET 

Shone,  softened  with  a  phosper  glow 

Of  sympathetic  light, 
And  that  her  fledgling  spirit  pure 

Was  pluming  fast  for  flight. 

Each  tendril  throbbed  and  quickened 

As  I  nightly  climbed  apace, 

And  could  scare  restrain  the  blossoms 

When,  anear  the  destined  place, 
Her  gentle  whisper  thrilled  me, 

Ere  I  gazed  upon  her  face. 

I  waited,  darkling,  till  the  dawn 
Should  touch  me  into  bloom, 
While  all  my  being  panted 
To  outpour  its  first  perfume, 
When  lo !  a  paler  flower  than  mine 
Had  blossomed  in  the  gloom ! 

INTIMATIONS 

I  knew  the  flowers  had  dreamed  of  you, 
And  hailed  the  morning  with  regret ; 

For  all  their  faces  with  the  dew 
Of  vanished  joy  were  wet. 

I  knew  the  winds  had  passed  your  way, 
Though  not  a  sound  the  truth  betrayed ; 

About  their  pinions  all  the  day 
A  summer  fragrance  stayed. 

[101] 


FATHER  TABB 

And  so,  awaking  or  asleep, 

A  memory  of  lost  delight, 
By  day  the  sightless  breezes  keep, 

And  silent  flowers  by  night. 

MY  PHOTOGRAPH 

My  sister  Sunshine  smiled  on  me, 

And  of  my  visage  wrought  a  shade. 
''Behold,"  she  cried,  "the  mystery 
Of  which  thou  art  afraid ! 

"For  Death  is  but  a  tenderness, 

A  shadow,  that  unclouded  Love 
Hath  fashioned  in  its  own  excess 

Of  radiance  from  above." 

RECOGNITION 

At  twilight,  on  the  open  sea, 

We  passed,  with  breath  of  melody  — 

A  song,  to  each  familiar,  sung 

In  accents  of  an  alien  tongue. 

We  could  not  see  each  other's  face, 
Nor  through  the  glowing  darkness  trace 
Our  destinies ;  but  brimming  eyes 
Betrayed  unworded  sympathies. 

A  Protestant  gentleman  once  said  to  Father  Tabb 
that  he  could  not  see  the  use  of  the  contemplative 

[102] 


THE  POET 

sisterhoods  of  the  Catholic  Church,  while  he  admired 
the  active  orders.  The  following  is  Father  Tabb's 
answer : 

THE  SISTERS 

The  waves  forever  move ; 

The  hills  forever  rest: 

Yet  each  alike  the  heavens  approve 

And  Love  alike  hath  blessed 

A  Martha's  household  care, 

A  Mary's  cloistered  prayer. 

THE  DAYSPRING 

What  hand  with  spear  of  light 
Hath  cleft  the  side  of  Night, 
And  from  the  red  wound  wide 
Fashioned  the  Dawn,  his  bride  ? 

Was  it  the  deed  of  Death? 
Nay,  but  of  Love,  that  saith, 
"Henceforth  be  Shade  and  Sun, 
In  bonds  of  Beauty,  one." 

PHOTOGRAPHED 

For  years,  an  ever-shifting  shade 
The  sunshine  of  thy  visage  made ; 
Then,  spider-like,  the  captive  caught 
In  meshes  of  immortal  thought. 

[103] 


FATHER  TABB 

Wen  so,  with  half-averted  eye, 
Day  after  day  I  passed  thee  by, 
Till  suddenly  a  subtler  art 
Enshrined  thee  in  my  heart  of  heart. 

In  speaking  of  the  above,  Father  Tabb  said:  "Es 
pecially  true  in  the  case  of  'Reb!'  "  "Reb"  was 
the  nickname  of  a  member  of  the  Class  of  '95  at  St. 
Charles  College,  a  young  man  from  Georgia. 

THE  CHORD 

In  this  narrow  cloister  bound 
Dwells  a  Sisterhood  of  Sound, 
Far  from  alien  voices  rude 
And  in  secret  solitude. 
Unisons,  that  yearned  apart, 
Here,  in  harmony  of  heart, 
Blend  divided  sympathies, 
And  in  choral  strength  arise, 
Like  the  cloven  tongues  of  fire, 
One  in  heavenly  desire. 

COMPENSATION 

How  many  an  acorn  falls  to  die 
For  one  that  makes  a  tree ! 
How  many  a  heart  must  pass  me  by 
For  one  that  cleaves  to  me! 

[104] 


THE  POET 

How  many  a  suppliant  wave  of  sound 
Must  still  unheeded  roll, 
For  one  low  utterance  that  found 
An  echo  in  my  soul ! 

TO  THE  SUMMER  WIND 

Art  thou  the  selfsame  wind  that  blew 

When  I  was  but  a  boy? 
Thy  voice  is  like  the  voice  I  knew, 

And  yet  the  thrill  of  joy 
Has  softened  to  a  sadder  tone ; — 

Perchance  the  echo  of  my  own. 

Beside  a  sea  of  memories 

In  solitude  I  dwell; 
Upon  the  shore  forsaken  lies 

Alas!  no  murmuring  shell! 
Are  all  the  voices  lost  to  me 
Still  wandering  the  world  with  thee  ? 

CHILDHOOD 

Old  Sorrow  I  shall  meet  again, 
And  Joy,  perchance  —  but  never,  never, 
Happy  Childhood,  shall  we  twain 
See  each  other 's  face  forever ! 

Yet  I  would  not  call  thee  back, 
Dear  Childhood,  lest  the  sight  of  me, 
Thine  old  companion,  on  the  rack 
Of  Age,  should  sadden  even  thee. 


FATHER  TABB 

THE  STRANGER 

He  entered;  but  the  mask  he  wore 
Concealed  his  face  from  me. 
Still,  something  I  had  seen  before 
He  brought  to  memory. 

' '  Who  art  thou  ?    What  thy  rank,  thy  name  ? 
I  questioned,  with  surprise. 
"Thyself!"  the  laughing  answer  came, 
"As  seen  of  others'  eyes!" 

KILLDEE 

Killdee !    Killdee !    far  o'er  the  lea 

At  twilight  comes  the  cry. 
Killdee;  a  marsh-mate  answereth 
Across  the  shallow  sky. 

Killdee !    Killdee !    thrills  over  me 

A  rhapsody  of  light, 
And  star  to  star  gives  utterance 

Between  the  day  and  night. 

Killdee!    Killdee!    0  Memory, 
The  twin  birds,  Joy  and  Pain, 

Like  shadows  parted  by  the  sun, 
At  twilight  meet  again ! 

THE  PLAINT  OF  THE  ROSE 

Said  the  budding  Rose,  ''All  night 
Have  I  dreamed  of  the  joyous  Light : 

[106] 


THE  POET 

How  long  doth  my  Lord  delay ! 
Coine,  Dawn,  and  kiss  from  mine  eyes  away 
The  dewdrops  cold  and  the  shadows  gray, 
That  hide  thee  from  my  sight ! '  ' 

Said  the  full-blown  Rose,  "0  Light! 
(So  fair  to  the  dreamer's  sight!) 
How  long  doth  the  Dew  delay ! 
Come  back,  sweet  sister  shadows  gray, 
And  lead  me  from  the  world  away, 

To  the  calm  of  the  cloister  Night ! ' ' 

INDIAN  SUMMER 

'Tis  said,  in  death,  upon  the  face 

Of  Age,  a  momentary  trace 
Of  Infancy's  returning  grace 

Forestalls  decay; 

And  here,  in  Autumn's  dusky  reign, 
A  birth  of  blossoms  seems  again 

To  flush  the  woodland's  fading  train 
With  dreams  of  May. 

A  PHONOGRAPH 

Hark!    What  his  fellow-warblers  heard 

And  uttered  in  the  light, 
Their  phonograph,  the  mocking-bird, 

Repeats  to  them  at  night. 


FATHER  TABB 

"FOR  THE  RAIN  IT  RAINETH  EVERY  DAY 

Ay,  every  day  some  rain  doth  fall, 

And  every  day  doth  rise ; 
'Tis  thus  the  heavens  incessant  call, 

And  thus  the  earth  replies. 

PREJUDICE 

A  leaf  may  hide  the  largest  star 

From  Love's  uplifted  eye; 
A  mote  of  prejudice  outbar 

A  world  of  Charity. 

DISCREPANCY 

One  dream  the  bird  and  blossom  dreamed 

Of  Love,  the  whole  night  long; 
Yet  twain  its  revelation  seemed, 

In  fragrance  and  in  song. 

SAP 

Strong  as  the  sea  and  silent  as  the  grave, 

It  ebbs  and  flows  unseen ; 
Flooding  the  earth  —  a  fragrant  tidal  wave  — 

With  mist  of  deepening  green. 

ALTER  EGO 

Thou  art  to  me  as  is  the  sea 

Unto  the  shell; 
A  life  whereof  I  breathe,  a  love 

Wherein  I  dwell. 

[108] 


>  ? 


THE  POET 

MOMENTS 

Like  the  manna,  mute  as  snow, 
Swift  the  moments  come  and  go, 
Each  sufficient  for  the  needs 
Of  the  multitude  it  feeds ; 

One  to  all,  and  all  to  one, 
Superfluity  to  none, 
Ever  dying  but  to  give 
Life  whereon  alone  we  live. 

LOSS 

For  one  extinguished  light 
Of  Love,  all  heaven  is  night ; 
For  one  frail  flower  the  less, 
The  world  a  wilderness. 

FINIS 

0  to  be  with  thee  sinking  to  thy  rest, 

Thy  journey  done ; 
The  world  thou  leavest  blessing  thee  and  blest, 

0  setting  sun; 
The  clouds,  that  ne'er  the  morning  joys  forget, 

Again  aglow, 
And  leaf  and  flower  with  tears  of  twilight  wet 

To  see  thee  go. 

[109] 


FATHER  TABS 

THE  OLD  YEAR'S  BLESSING 

Like  Simeon  of  old, 
The  new-born  babe  I  hold 

Upon  my  heart : 
According  to  Thy  word, 
Let  now  Thy  servant,  Lord, 
In  peace  depart. 

THE  DIAL 

A  dreamer  in  the  dark,  I  grow 
Prophetic  in  the  morning  glow; 
Thereon  a  slender  shade  I  throw  — 
A  sign  in  Babylon  to  say 
1 '  Thou  'rt  in  the  balance  weighed,  0  Day, 
Found  wanting,  and  shalt  waste  away,'' 
And  now  in  Night 's  pavilion,  all 
The  stars  are  writing  on  the  wall, 
"Behold,  thy  kingdom  too  must  fall!" 

MORNING  AND  NIGHT  BLOOM 

A  star  and  a  rosebud  white, 
In  the  morning  twilight  gray, 
The  latest  blossom  of  the  night, 

The  earliest  of  the  day; 
The  star  to  vanish  in  the  night, 

The  rose  to  stay. 

A  star  and  a  rosebud  white, 
In  the  evening  twilight  gray; 

[no] 


THE 


The  earliest  blossom  of  the  night, 

The  latest  of  the  day; 
The  one  in  darkness  finding  light, 

One,  lost  for  aye. 

FRATERNITY 

I  know  not  but  in  every  leaf 
That  sprang  to  life  along  with  me, 
Were  written  all  the  joy  and  grief 
Thenceforth  my  fate  to  be. 

The  wind  that  whispered  to  the  earth, 
The  bird  that  sang  its  earliest  lay, 
The  flower  that  blossomed  at  my  birth  — 
My  kinsmen  all  were  they. 

Aye,  but  for  fellowship  with  these 
I  had  not  been  —  nay,  might  not  be; 
Nor  they  but  vagrant  melodies 
Till  harmonized  to  me. 

THE  SEED 

Bearing  a  life  unseen, 
Thou  lingerest  between 

A  flower  withdrawn, 
And  —  what  thou  ne'er  shalt  see  — 
A  blossom  yet  to  be 

When  thou  art  gone. 


FATHER  TABB 

Unto  the  feast  of  Spring 
Thy  broken  heart  shall  bring 

What  most  it  craved, 
To  find,  like  Magdalen 
In  tears,  a  life  again  - 

Love-lost  —  and  saved! 

The  following  was  suggested  by  the  tree  tops  wav 
ing  outside  Father  Tabb's  classroom  window: 

AGAINST  THE  SKY 

See,  where  the  foliage  fronts  the  sky, 
How  many  a  meaning  we  descry 
That  else  had  never  to  the  eye 
A  signal  shown! 

So  we,  on  life 's  horizon-line, 
To  watchers  waiting  for  a  sign, 
Perchance  interpret  Love's  design, 
To  us  unknown! 

A  SIGH  OF  THE  SEA 

"Why  is  it,"  once  the  Ocean  asked, 

As  on  a  summer's  day, 
Basking  beneath  a  cloudless  sky, 

In  musing  rest  he  lay, 

"Why  is  it  that,  unruffled  still, 
The  Welkin's  brow  I  see, 

[112] 


THE  POET 

While  mine,  with  racking  wind  and  tide, 
Deep-furrowed  oft  must  be? 

"Her  richest  gems,  by  night  displayed, 

Man's  filching  grasp  defy; 
But  safety  for  my  treasures,  none, 

Though  buried  deep  they  lie. 

''The  hands  that  from  her  diadem 

In  reverence  recoil, 
Are  bold  my  depths  to  penetrate 

And  of  their  wealth  despoil. 

"A  thousand  ships  with  cruel  keel 

My  writhing  waves  divide, 
But  mariner  hath  never  steered 

Athwart  her  tranquil  tide. 

"Why  is  it  thus,  that  rest  to  her 

And  toil  to  me  is  given?  — 
That  she  the  blessing  ever  meets, 

And  I,  the  curse  of  heaven?" 

The  Ether  heard.    Through  all  her  depths 

A  deeper  azure  spread, 
And  to  the  murmuring  Ocean  thus 

With  radiant  smile,  she  said: 

"Who  cleaveth  to  the  earth,  as  thou, 

Ne'er  knows  tranquillity; 
Naught  pulses  in  my  bosom  wide 
But  God,  whose  own  am  I." 


FATHER  TABB 

ALL  IN  ALL 

One  heaven  above ; 

But  many  a  heaven  below 

The  dewdrops  show  — 
God's  tenderness 
Subdued  in  every  teardrop,  to  express 

The  whole  of  Love. 

TO  A  BLIND  BABE,  SLEEPING 

Are  thy  dreams  dark  ?    Or  is  the  light 
Alone  denied  thy  waking  sight, 
While  softer  stars  their  vigils  keep 
Within  thy  hemisphere  of  sleep? 

Yes:  haply,   as  noon-blinded  beams 
Awake  in  darkness,  o'er  thy  dreams 
The  pity  that  begets  our  tears, 
A  kindling  radiance  appears. 

SECURITY 

The  noonday  smiles  to  hear 

The  oft-repeated  tale 
Of  shadows  lurking  near 
Her  sunbeams  to  assail. 

Nor  heeds  the  placid  Night 
The  prophesy  of  doom 

To  drown  her  stars  in  light 
As  fathomless  as  gloom. 


THE  POET 
INDIAN  SUMMER 

No  more  the  battle  or  the  chase 

The  phantom  tribes  pursue, 
But  each  in  its  accustomed  place 

The  Autumn  hails  anew: 
And  still  from  solemn  councils  set 

On  every  hill  and  plain, 
The  smoke  of  many  a  calumet 

Ascends  to  heaven  again. 


A  RUBRIC 

The  aster  puts  its  purple  on 
When  flowers  begin  to  fall, 

To  suit  the  solemn  antiphon 
Of  Autumn's  ritual. 

And  deigns,  unwearied,  to  stand 

In  robes  pontifical, 
Till  Indian  Summer  leaves  the  land, 

And  Winter  spreads  the  pall. 


RELEASE 

So  long  I  am  a  prisoner 
As  Time  and  Thought  surround  me  here : 
When  Time  is  dead,  and  Memory 
Deserts  the  ramparts,  I  am  free. 


FATHER  TABB 
SILENCE 

A  sea  wherein  the  rivers  of  all  sound 

Their  streams  incessant  pour, 
But  whence  no  tide  returning  e  'er  hath  found 

An  echo  on  the  shore. 

TO  A  WOOD-VIOLET 

In  this  secluded  shrine, 

0  miracle  of  grace, 
No  mortal  eye  but  mine 

Hath  looked  upon  thy  face. 

No  shadow  but  mine  own 

Hath  screened  thee  from  the  sight 

Of  heaven,  whose  love  alone 
Hath  led  me  to  thy  light. 

Whereof  —  as  shade  to  shade 

Is  wedded  in  the  sun  — 
A  moment's  glance  hath  made 

Our  souls  forever  one. 

IN  ABSENCE 

All  that  thou  art  not,  makes  not  up  the  sum 
Of  what  thou  art,  Beloved,  unto  me: 

All  other  voices,  wanting  thine,  are  dumb ; 
All  vision,  in  thine  absence,  vacancy. 

[116] 


THE  POEJ 

IDEALS 

Could  Day  demand  a  gift  of  Night, 
And  Night  the  boon  bestow, 
'Twould  be  that  heaven  of  star-delight 
Where  dreams  departed  go. 

Could  Night  the  gift  demand,  and  Day 
The  benefit  confer; 
'Twould  be,  upon  his  twilight  way 
A  lengthened  hour  with  her. 

BARGAINS 

"What  have  you  in  your  basket?" 
I  questioned  Mother  Sleep. 

"Ah,  many  a  golden  casket 
Of  jewel-dreams  I  keep 
At  pastime  prices  for  the  friend 
Who's  half-an-hour  or  more  to  spend.'3 

THE  RAINPOOL 

I  am  too  small  for  winds  to  mar 
My  surface ;  but  I  hold  a  Star 
That  teaches  me,  though  low  my  lot, 
That  highest  Heaven  forgets  me  not. 

CHANTICLEER 

A  crowing,  cuddling  little  Babe  was  he, 
A  child  for  little  children  far  or  near. 


FATHER  TABB 

When  lie  stood  and  crowed  upon  his  mother's  knee. 
The  morning  echoed,  " Welcome,  Chanticleer!" 
He  was  a  crowing,  cuddling  little  Babe ! 

When  his  mother  wore,  alas,  her  life  away, 
He  was  wonder-wide  to  see  the  children  weep, 
But  he  crowed,  and  cuddled  close  enough  to  lay 
His  head  upon  her  heart,  and  went  to  sleep :  — 
He  was  a  cuddling,  crowing  little  Babe! 

God  Himself  was  tender  to  him ;  for  behold, 
An  Angel  in  a  dream  (the  children  said) 
Came  and  kissed  him  till  his  little  cheek  was  cold ; 
So  he  never  saw  the  tears  the  twilight  shed. 
He  was  a  crowing,  cuddling  little  Babe ! 

WINTER  TREES 

Like  champions  of  old, 
Their  garments  at  their  feet, 

Defiant  of  the  cold 
The  wrestling  winds  they  meet: 
Anon,  if  victors  found, 

With  vernal  trophies  crowned. 

FATHER  T  ABB'S  POETRY 

(From  "The  New  Century") 

Not  a  great  while  ago  critics  were  asserting  that 
the  vogue  of  poetry  had  passed.     They  pointed  to 


THE  POET 

the  fact  that  the  decay  in  appreciation  of  poetry 
was  evident.  This  showed  a  tendency  to  misread  facts : 
it  also  indicated  that  the  critics  are  largely  domi 
nated  by  the  publishers  and  fashions.  It  was  asked: 
"Is  it  possible  to  re-vitalize  a  form  of  thought  that 
seemed,  at  least,  to  have  gone  with  the  poetic  child 
hood  of  the  race  1 ' '  The  little  singers,  perhaps  of  an 
empty  day,  of  course,  were  piping  in  the  gloom. 
Austin  and  Dobson  were  singing  —  tender,  pretty 
little  songs.  Others  were  devoting  both  thought  and 
talent  to  ambitious  efforts  in  the  form  consecrated 
by  time,  and  they  were  producing  too,  works  which, 
despite  many  beauties  of  detail,  failed  to  flower  into 
a  splendor  that  recalls  the  middle  Victorian  era. 

Those  who  were  gleaning  in  the  wornout  furrows 
at  last  made  a  "find."  The  Athenaeum  eagerly 
hailed  it.  The  poet  was  John  B.  Tabb.  He  was  a 
real  poet ;  there  could  be  no  mistaking  that  fact.  He 
was  strangely  similar  to  Shelley,  with  a  hint  of  Poe 
at  his  best,  with,  of  course,  his  spectral  parapher 
nalia  omitted.  Even  the  critics  grew  lyrical  in  their 
praise  at  the  exquisite  glimpses  of  lyric  beauty.  Few 
knew  that  the  author,  John  B.  Tabb,  was  "Father 
Tabb,"  and  that  he  was  a  professor  at  St.  Charles 
College,  Ellicott  City,  Md.  The  note  that  Father 
Tabb  struck  was  frankly  lyrical.  He  is,  in  our 
opinion,  one  of  the  most  notable  exemplifications  in 
modern  art  of  the  lyrical  spirit,  confined  only  by 
rigorous  canons. 

["9] 


FATHER  TABB 

So  much  has  been  written  of  romanticism  and 
realism  that  it  is  rather  a  mark  of  distinction  in  criti 
cism  to  ignore  the  terms  and  cherish  the  essence  of 
each.  We  have  been  told  that  we  coiild  not  have 
strayed  farther  from  the  truth  when  we  classed  Father 
Tabb  as  a  realist.  And  yet  we  were  not  altogether 
sure  that  in  the  elemental  sense  in  which  we  are 
using  the  term  he  is  not  realistic,  for  his  art,  notwith 
standing  its  lyric  aloofness,  is  most  directly  and  in 
timately  associated  with  life,  and  invariably  he  com 
poses  with  his  "eye  on  the  object." 

As  a  lyrist  he  is  supreme.  He  is  concerned  with 
impressions  rather  than  with  documents,  with  the 
imaginative  expression  of  the  emotions  rather  than 
with  photographic  literalness;  the  truth  is  there  but 
the  truth  made  beautiful  because  seen  by  the  eye  of  a 
poet.  Father  Tabb  is  fundamentally,  absorbingly  a 
poet;  the  gift  of  the  magical  word  has  been  miracu 
lously  vouchsafed  him.  He  has  been  elected  to  utter 
the  truth  in  terms  of  fervor  and  beauty.  At  his 
best  — in  such  things  as  "Poe-Chopin,"  "Shelley," 
' '  Eternity "  —  he  has  touched  heights  and  depths 
unknown  to  the  mass  of  his  contemporaries. 

"The  White  Jessamine"  is  an  expression  that  was 
unknown  before  the  Victorian  era  —  unless  it  has 
been  foreshadowed  in  some  of  the  Elizabethan  and 
Jacobean  love  songs.  There  are  touches  of  Tenny 
son's  "Maud"  in  it;  it  is  simple;  yet  the  truth  in 
it  is  so  general  that  all  can  feel  it.  It  has  the  vision 

[120] 


THE  POET 

—  piercing,  intolerable  —  of  Shelley,  the  verity  of 
Tennyson,  and  the  overflowing  melody  of  Poe. 
Another  exquisite  poem,  full  of  color,  altogether  magi 
cal  in  mood  and  temperament,  is  "Ave:  Sidney 
Lanier." 

Father  Tabb  is  in  direct  line  of  literary  descent 
from  the  greatest  of  the  English  poets.  Still  there 
is  little  in  his  poetry,  in  its  accent  or  movement,  to 
remind  one  of  the  past.  Again  and  again  in  his 
poetry  Father  Tabb  strikes  that  "sheer,  inimitable 
Celtic  note"  which  Matthew  Arnold  has  taught  us 
so  readily  to  recognize.  We  certainly  do  not  go  be 
yond  the  truth  when  we  affirm  that  in  such  a  splen 
did  phantasy  as  "To  a  Wood-Robin"  and  in  such 
exquisite  expressions  as  "Transfigured,"  "The  Sis 
ters,"  "My  Messmate,"  there  is  an  inevitable  felicity, 
a  graphic  nearness  and  splendor,  a  lyric  fervor  which 
are  as  rare  as  the  Greek  Kalends  in  English  poetry. 

His  work,  piercing  in  tenderness,  reticent  and  tech 
nically  finished,  is  the  work  of  an  exquisite  artist  in 
words,  an  admirable  psychologist,  a  religious  soul. 
He  is  one  of  the  most  vital  forces  in  contemporary 
letters  —  he  carries  the  credentials  of  genius." 

The  above  masterly  criticism  of  the  work  of  Father 
Tabb  was  found  in  the  annotated  volumes  of  his 
poems,  preserved  by  Father  Perrig.  The  clipping 
was  from  "The  New  Century,"  as  before  stated,  but 

[121] 


FATHER  TABB 

bore  no  date,  neither  was  the  name  of  the  writer  given, 
It  seems,  however,  a  most  fitting  ending  for  the  chap 
ter  devoted  to  the  poetic  side  of  the  Poet-Priest. 


[122] 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  PRIEST 

To  quote  once  more  from  Reverend  F.  Joseph 
Magri:  "As  great  as  is  Father  Tabb  the  poet,  he 
is  greater  still  as  the  priest  of  God.  So  profound 
was  his  humility  that,  after  his  ordination  to  the 
diaconate,  he  wished  to  go  no  further  but  to  remain 
a  deacon  and  thus  teach  at  St.  Charles  College.  His 
superiors  insisted  that  his  was  an  undoubted  priestly 
calling  and  so,  at  their  bidding,  he  was  soon  privi 
leged  to  stand  at  the  Altar  of  God  and  offer  to  Him 
the  infinite  sacrifice  of  the  Mass. 

"Each  morning  before  beginning  his  college 
duties  he  would  fervently  pray  and  meditate;  the 
servers  who  in  turn  would  assist  him  at  his  daily 
Mass  all  testify  to  the  deep  and  touching  devotion 
with  which  Father  Tabb  offered  to  God  the  first  fruits 
of  the  day." 

One  of  the  servers  referred  to  says:  "It  was  my 
privilege  to  serve  Father  Tabb's  Mass  for  several 
years,  taking  my  turn  with  another  of  the  students; 
he  prepared  for  this  sublime  religious  act  by  daily 
meditation.  How  much  time  he  devoted  to  medita 
tion  no  one  knows.  He  began  his  Mass  at  five  o'clock 
A.  M.  and  one  morning  I  went  to  the  Chapel  by 

[123] 


FATHER  TABB 

mistake  at  four  o'clock  and  Father  Tabb  was  there 
engaged  in  meditation.  I  was  not  greatly  surprised 
at  this  for  it  was  rumored  that  he  could  be  found  at 
all  hours  of  the  night  in  the  gallery  overlooking  the 
Chapel/' 

It  was  at  the  Altar  of  God  that  he  attained  that 
radiance  of  spirit  that  shone  through  his  whole  be 
ing  and  even  when  that  saddest  of  afflictions  — 
blindness  —  came  upon  him,  he  was  still  possessed 
of  the  peace  and  joy  which  spring  from  things  not 
temporal  but  eternal. 

Reverend  Lucian  Johnston  of  St.  Thomas  Church, 
Baltimore,  gives  a  delightful  sketch  of  Father  Tabb 
as  he  knew  him  and  paints  for  us  a  most  vivid  picture 
of  his  celebration  of  the  Christmas  Mass.  Father 
Johnston  says: 

''I  first  knew  Father  Tabb  somewhere  in  the  sev 
enties  when  I  was  a  little  barefoot  boy  playing 
around  my  father's  home  at  Waverly,  near  here. 
The  home  was  then  quite  a  rendezvous  for  many  old 
Confederate  and  literary  friends  of  my  father's. 
Vice-President  Stephens,  General  Toombs,  Sidney 
Lanier,  and  others  were  often  visitors  and  among 
them  frequently  was  Father  Tabb.  I  distinctly  re 
member  how  at  first  I  was  extremely  timid  with  him ; 
and  that  was  because  as  a  mere  boy  I  did  not  ap 
preciate  the  exquisite  tenderness  of  his  nature. 

' '  Then,  when  I  went  to  St.  Charles,  I  have  the  next 
vivid  recollection  —  of  his  first  Mass;  I  think  it  was 
at  midnight  of  a  Christmas.  I  do  not  now  remember 


THE  PRIEST 

what  he  said  but  I  do  still  remember  that  his  few 
words  delivered  in  his  peculiarly  sensitive  tones  im 
pressed  me  profoundly.  They  came  like  the  flash  of 
the  angelic  light  before  the  shepherds  —  and  then,  as 
quickly,  the  brilliance  faded.  I  was  then  only  four 
teen  but  it  all  seemed  very  sweet,  something  'rich 
and  strange,'  unlike  anything  I  had  hitherto  known. 
It  is  curious  how  that  Mass-scene  is  today  so  vivid  — 
and  its  vividness  is  due  to  his  strangely  beautiful 
exquisiteness. 

"From  then  on  I  knew  him,  of  course,  like  the 
other  students,  except  that  I  saw  a  great  deal  more 
of  him  in  vacation  time.  His  nature  ever  impressed 
me  as  peculiarly  delicate,  in  spite  of  his  biting  wit 
and  almost  boyish  love  of  joke.  Were  a  fairy  sun 
beam  to  become  imprisoned  in  a  human  body  —  that 
about  conveys  my  idea.  He  was  meant  for  all  things 
delicate,  strangely  delicate  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
nature  had  not  endowed  him  with  a  good  physique. 

"I  suppose  his  poetry  is  the  best  reflection  of  his 
delicacy  —  timidly  sweet,  like  an  elf  looking  from  a 
moonlit  rosebush,  yet  mischievous  —  a  child  somewhat 
after  the  manner  of  Francis  Thompson  without  the 
latter 's  moodiness.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  he  him 
self  was  so  excessively  shy  just  because  of  this  fairy 
delicacy  which  shrank  from  the  noise  and  roughness 
of  workday  life. 

"Like  a  good  many  who  survived  the  horrors  of 
the  ancient  regime  of  the  South,  he  never  quite  got 
used  to  modern  ways.  My  own  father  was  equally 


FATHER  TABB 

helpless  in  that  fashion.  But  all  those  men  had  that 
peculiar  delicacy  of  soul  which  seems  now  to  be  rarer 
and  rarer.  Sometimes  I  think  they  were  wiser  than 
we  —  wise  with  the  wisdom  of  the  lilies  of  the  field, 
even  though  War's  scythe  did  mow  them  down  so 
mercilessly. ' ' 

Can  it  be  that  the  midnight  Mass  which  so  vividly 
impressed  the  boy  that  it  remains  with  him  to  this 
day,  is  the  one  mentioned  in  M.  S.  Pine's  biography 
as  the  first  Mass  celebrated  by  the  young  priest?  It 
would  seem  from  what  she  says  of  this  Mass  that  it 
must  be  identical  with  the  one  described  by  Father 
Johnston:  "Holy  Orders  were  conferred  upon  him 
during  the  Ember  Week  of  Advent,  December  20, 
by  Archbishop  Gibbons  in  the  Cathedral  of  the  As 
sumption  in  Baltimore.  It  was  in  the  College  Chapel, 
at  the  midnight  Mass  of  Christmas  that  he  had  the 
privilege  of  offering  the  Divine  Victim  to  His  Eternal 
Father  for  the  first  time;  and  so  deeply  affected  was 
he  by  the  greatness  and  sacredness  of  the  act  that  he 
would  celebrate  only  one  Mass  although  the  Church 
allowed  her  priests  to  say  three  at  the  solemn  Feast 
of  the  Nativity  of  Christ.  At  the  close  of  the  Gospel 
he  turned  and  addressed  his  audience  in  brief  but 
impressive  tones,  referring  with  affectionate  grati 
tude  to  the  beautiful  chalice  he  had  just  used,  it 
being  a  testimonial  of  the  love  and  appreciation  of 
his  pupils.  His  love  overflowed  in  thanksgiving  to 
Almighty  God  who  permitted  him  to  celebrate  his 
first  Mass  in  the  Chapel  so  dear  to  him;  and  he  ex- 

[126] 


THE  PRIEST 

pressed  an  ardent  desire  that  after  a  life  consecrated 
to  his  beloved  pupils,  he  might  offer  the  sacrifice  for 
the  last  time  within  its  holy  walls." 

God  heard  his  prayer  and  granted  it  in  fullness, 
for  from  that  day  until  the  day  of  his  death  the 
gifted  poet-priest  was  a  part  of  the  College.  Toward 
the  end  of  his  life,  when  his  sight  became  very  dim, 
he  practically  said  Mass  from  memory.  The  students 
who  acted  as  his  servers  were  instructed  to  be  ready 
to  prompt  him  but  so  complete  was  his  attention  and 
so  wonderfully  retentive  was  his  memory  that  never 
in  the  two  years  of  his  blindness  did  he  falter. 

He  gave  to  the  College  the  service  of  his  whole  be 
ing;  and  the  angels  alone  could  measure  the  height 
of  moral,  spiritual  and  literary  influence  which  he 
exerted,  not  only  on  those  who  came  directly  under 
the  gentle  influence  of  his  personality  in  the  class 
room,  but  on  hosts  of  friends  and  strangers  alike  — 
through  his  letters  and  through  his  published  works. 

Father  Tabb's  religious  poems  have  been  char 
acterized  as  "gems  of  the  sanctuary"  and  an  emi 
nent  critic  says  of  them:  "the  more  purely  devo 
tional  poems,  dealing  with  the  mysterious  and  sacred 
things  of  his  faith,  are  not  within  the  province  of 
mere  literary  criticism.  But,  as  we  might  expect, 
it  is  the  tenderer  and  more  human  aspect  of  things 
divine  that  appeal  to  him  most  strongly:  the  Holy 
Babe  as  the  type  of  infant  innocence  and  His  Mother 
as  the  type  of  motherhood.  Many  of  these  poems  treat 
of  children  and  of  childhood,  and  always  with 

[127] 


FATHER  TABB 

an  ineffable  tenderness  and  almost  reverence  as  if 
some  light  from  the  Manger  at  Bethlehem  shone 
about  each  baby  head." 

AT  THE  MANGER 

When  first  her  Christmas  watch  to  keep, 

When  down  the  silent  angel,  Sleep, 
With  snowy  sandals  shod, 
Beholding  what  His  Mother's  hands 
Had  wrought,  with  softer  swaddling  bands 
She  swathed  the  Son  of  God. 

Then  skilled  in  mysteries  of  night, 

With  tender  visions  of  delight 
She  wreathed  His  resting-place; 
Till,  wakened  by  a  warmer  glow 
Than  heaven  itself  had  yet  to  show, 

He  saw  His  Mother's  face! 

In  the  last  three  lines  he  achieves  the  sublime ! 
The  little  Christmas  poem  ''Out  of  Bounds"  has 
been  called  Father  Tabb  's  ' '  Missionary  Sermon : ' ' 

OUT  OF  BOUNDS 

A  little  Boy  of  heavenly  birth, 

But  far  from  home  today, 

Comes  down  to  find  His  Ball,  the  Earth, 

That  Sin  has  cast  away. 


THE  PRIEST 

0  Comrades,  let  us  one  and  all 
Join  in  to  get  Him  back  His  Ball ! 

Other  noted  Christmas  poems  from  the  pen  of  the 
gifted  priest  are: 

The  Christmas  Babe  —  generally  thought  to  bear 
reference  to  the  Christ  Child  but  in  reality  referring 
to  a  little  friend  of  Father  Tabb's  who  was  born  at 
the  time  of  the  celebration  of  the  High  Mass  on 
Christmas  Night: 

So  small  that  lesser  lowliness 
Must  bow  to  worship  or  caress ; 
So  great  that  heaven  itself,  to  know 
Love's  majesty,  must  look  below. 

THE  EXPECTED  OF  NATIONS 

While  Shepherd  Stars  their  nightly  vigil  keep 

Above  the  clouds  of  Sleep. 
Long  prophesied,  behold  the  manchild,  Morn, 

Again  is  born. 

A  CHRISTMAS  CRADLE 

Let  my  heart  the  cradle  be 
Of  Thy  bleak  nativity! 
Tossed  by  wintry  tempests  wild, 
If  it  rock  Thee,  Holy  Child, 
Then  as  grows  the  outer  din, 
Greater  peace  shall  reign  within. 

[129] 


FATHER  TABB 

THE  LIGHT  OF  BETHLEHEM 

'Tis  Christmas  night!  the  snow, 

A  flock  unnumered  lies! 
The  old  Judean  stars  aglow, 

Keep  watch  within  the  skies. 

An  icy  stillness  holds 

The  pulses  of  the  night: 
A  deeper  mystery  enfolds 

The  wondering  Hosts  of  Light. 

Till,  lo,  with  reverence  pale 

That  dims  each  diadem, 
The  lordliest,  earthward  blending,  hail 

The  Light  of  Bethlehem ! 

MISTLETOE 

To  the  cradle-bough  of  a  naked  tree, 
Benumbed  with  ice  and  snow, 

A  Christmas  dream  brought  suddenly 
A  birth  of  mistletoe. 

The  shephred  stars  from  their  fleecy  cloud 
Strode  out  on  the  night  to  see; 

The  Herod  north-wind  blustered  loud 
To  rend  it  from  the  tree. 

But  the  Old  Year  took  it  for  a  sign, 
And  blessed  it  in  his  heart: 


THE  PRIEST 

"With  prophesy  of  peace  divine, 
Let  now  my  soul  depart." 

THE  LAMB-CHILD 

When  Christ  the  Babe  was  born, 
Full  many  a  little  lamb 

Uppn  the  wintry  hills  forlorn 
Was  nestled  near  its  dam; 

And,  waking  or  asleep, 
Upon  His  Mother's  breast, 

For  love  of  her,  each  mother-sheep 
And  baby-lamb,  He  blessed. 

THE  ANGEL'S  CHRISTMAS  QUEST 

"Where  have  ye  laid  my  Lord? 

Behold,  I  find  Him  not ! 
Hath  He,  in  heaven  adored, 

His  home  forgot? 
Give  me,  0  sons  of  men, 

My  truant  God  again!" 

A  voice  from  sphere  to  sphere  — 
A  faltering  murmur  —  ran- — 

"Behold,  He  is  not  here! 
Perchance  with  Man, 

The  lowlier  made  than  we, 
He  hides  His  majesty!" 

[131] 


FATHER  TABB 

Then  hushed  in  wondering  awe, 
The  spirit  held  his  breath, 

And  bowed:  for,  lo,  he  saw 
0  'ershadowing  Death, 

A  mother's  hands  above, 

Swathing  the  limbs  of  Love! 

GLORIA  IN  EXCELSIS 

'Tis  Christmas  Night!    Again  — 
But  not  from  heaven  to  earth  — 
Rings  forth  the  old  refrain 
"A  Saviour's  Birth!" 

Nay,   listen:      'tis  below! 
A  song  that  soars  above, 
From  human  hearts  aglow 
With  heavenly  love! 

A  CHRISTMAS  CHIME 

At  Christmas  time  from  clime  to  clime 
Each  star  to  star  doth  sweetly  chime, 
Till  all  the  heavens  are  ringed  with  rhyme. 

Then  loosed  above,  a  note  thereof 
Floats  downward  like  a  wandering  dove, 
And  all  the  world  is  ringed  with  Love! 

The  above  is  not  included  in  any  of  Father  Tabb  's 
volumes  of  poems  but  was  a  stray  bit,  published  on 
an  illustrated  page  in  a  Christmas  magazine. 

[132] 


THE  PRIEST 

THE  ARGONAUTS 

To  Bethlehem !    To  Bethlehem ! 
The  Magi  move  and  we  with  them, 

Along  the  selfsame  road; 
Still  following  the  Star  of  Peace, 
To  find  at  last  the  Golden  Fleece  — 
The  Spotless  Lamb  of  God! 

Many  of  the  religious  poems  of  the  priest  bear  on 
the  Man  of  Sorrows  and  the  shadow  of  Gethsemane 
and  Calvary,  and  many  of  them  reflect  the  joys  of 
the  Easter  Season  —  what  more  beautiful  idea  than 
the  fragrant  witnesses  of  the  Resurrection  depicted 
in 

EASTER  FLOWERS 

We  are  His  witnesses :   out  of  the  dim 

Dark  region  of  Death  we  have  risen  with  Him. 

Back  from  our  sepulchre  rolleth  the  stone, 

And  Spring,  the  bright  angel,  sits  smiling  thereon. 

We  are  His  witnesses:  see,  where  we  lay, 
The  snow,  that  late  bound  us,  is  folded  away; 
And  April,  fair  Magdalen,  weeping  anon, 
Stands  flooded  with  light  of  the  new-risen  Sun. 

Again  his  Easter  joy  peals  forth  triumphantly  in 
the  following  unique  definition : 

[^33] 


FATHER  TABB 

EASTER 

Like  a  meteor,  large  and  bright, 

Pell  a  seed  of  golden  light 

On  the  field  of  Christmas  night 

When  the  Babe  was  born ; 
Then,  'twas  sepulchered  in  gloom 
Till  above  His  holy  tomb 
Flashed  its  everlasting  bloom  — 

Flower  of  Easter  Morn! 

EASTER  LILIES 

Though  long  in  wintry  sleep  ye  lay, 
The  powers  of  darkness  could  not  stay 
Your  coming  at  the  call  of  day, 
Proclaiming  Spring. 

Nay:  like  the  faithful  virgins  wise, 
With  lamps  replenished  ye  arise, 
Ere  dawn  the  death-anointed  eyes 
Of  Christ,  the  King. 

Many  of  Father  Tabb's  poems  seem  rather  obscure 
until  illumined  by  his  explanation  of  the  circum 
stances  under  which  they  were  written.  For  instance : 

THE  CRUCIFIX 

Day  after  day  the  spear  of  Morning  bright 
Pierces  again  the  ever-wounded  side, 

[134] 


THE  PRIEST 

Pointing  at  once  the  birthspring  of  the  Light, 
And  where  for  Love  the  Light  Eternal  died. 

"This  came  to  me,"  said  Father  Tabb,  "when  I 
was  present  at  the  Confirmation  of  Philip  Carrol  at 
the  Manor  Church,  when  the  sun  shining  through  the 
window,  fell  upon  the  Crucifix  upon  the  Altar. " 

On  August  15,  1893,  Father  Tabb  preached  upon 
the  Assumption  at  old  St.  Peter's  Church  in  Rich 
mond.  He  summed  up  his  entire  sermon  in  four 
lines : 

THE  ASSUMPTION 

Nor  Bethlehem  nor  Nazareth, 
Apart  from  Mary 's  care ; 
Nor  Heaven  itself  a  home  for  Him 
Were  not  His  Mother  there! 

"The  New- Year  Babe"- — the  first  stanza  of  which 
is  as  follows : 

Two  together,  Babe  and  Year, 
At  the  midnight  chime, 
Through  the  darkness  drifted  here 
To  the  coast  of  time  — 

was  written  for  a  little  nephew  of  President  Dinneen 
of  St.  Charles  College.  The  poet  spoke  of  the  New 
Year  as  "twin-brother  to  Father  Dinneen 's  nephew." 
The  entire  poem  comprises  six  stanzas. 

[i35] 


FATHER  TABB 

Father  Tabb  once  explained  to  his  class  that  since 
Easter  was  regulated  by  the  Spring  moon,  it  was 
full  moon  during  the  agony  in  Gethsemane,  and  full 
moon  every  Eve  of  Good  Friday.  Hence  the  poem 

THE  PASCHAL  MOON 

Thy  face  is  whitened  with  remembered  woe ; 
For  thou  alone,  pale  satellite,  didst  see 
Amidst  the  shadows  of  Gethsemane, 
The  mingled  cup  of  sacrifice  o'reflow; 
Nor  hadst  the  power  of  utterance  to  show 
The  wasting  wound  of  silent  sympathy, 
Till  sudden  tides,  obedient  to  thee, 
Sobbed,  desolate  in  weltering  anguish,  low. 

The  Holy  Night  returneth  year  by  year; 
And,  while  the  mystic  vapors  from  thy  rim 
Distil  the  dews,  as  from  the  Victim  there 
The  red  drops  tickled  in  the  twilight  dim, 
The  Ocean's  changeless  threnody  we  hear, 
And  gaze  upon  thee,  as  thou  didst  on  Him. 

Father  Tabb  meditated  on  this  in  the  moonlight 
on  every  Holy  Thursday  night. 

The  first  book  of  poems  published  by  the  poet- 
priest  appeared  in  1884,  published  privately;  and  for 
the  next  ten  years  he  gave  the  public  nothing  from 
his  pen  save  through  the  magazines  in  this  country 
and  in  England.  Then  in  1894  Small,  Maynard  and 

[136] 


THE  PRIEST 

Company  of  Boston  brought  out  his  second  volume, 
"Poems,"  and  so  great  was  the  popularity  of  the 
collection  that  although  the  first  edition  appeared  in 
December  1894  a  second  was  called  for  in  January 
1895  and  before  the  end  of  that  year,  a  third  and  a 
fourth ;  this  little  volume  has  now  run  through  fifteen 
editions. 

Just  before  the  publication  of  'Poems,'  Father 
Tabb  gave  the  world  the  gem  of  his  religious  verse 
in  'An  Octave  to  Mary/  a  de  luxe  edition  in  white 
and  gold,  having  as  a  frontispiece  the  Burne-Jones 
'Annunciation,'  and  ten  years  later  came  'The 
Rosary  in  Verse'  which  was  dedicated  to  Bishop 
Curtis  and  limited  to  three  hundred  and  fifty  copies. 
This  was  the  most  elaborate  of  Father  Tabb's  works, 
having  fifteen  full  page  decorative  drawings  and 
initial  letters  by  Thomas  B.  Meteyard. 

But  not  alone  in  these  volumes  do  we  find  his  sacred 
poems  —  they  run  like  a  thread  of  gold  through  all 
his  works.  M.  S.  Pine  says:  "Father  Tabb's  pas 
sionate  love  of  the  Dogmas  of  the  Church  has  found 
ardent  utterance  in  his  poems,  as  one  is  forced  to 
confess:  indeed  I  dare  say  they  form  his  chief  mes 
sage.  The  priest  chants  in  high,  worthy  and 
persuasive  verse  the  Eeternal  Truths,  and  deep  mys 
teries  of  the  Faith:  'God,  the  All  in  All,'  Immortality, 
the  Creation,  the  Fall  and  Redemption,  the  supreme 
love  of  God  and  of  the  neighbor,  Heaven,  Hell  (with 
shuddering  beauty  defending  God's  justice)  and 


FATHER  TABB 

Purgatory,  the  Sacraments  and  the  Virtues,  the 
glories  of  the  Priesthood  and  the  Religious  State. 
In  truth  the  harvest  of  heavenly  wisdom  garnered  in 
these  little  sheaves  of  poesy  is  incalculable,  the  Sov- 
erign  Truth  to  whom  they  are  consecrated,  as  was  the 
whole  life  of  the  poet,  has  shed  into  them  the  per 
fumed  essence  of  heavenly  grace,  that  unction  we 
find  so  often  in  the  writings  of  saints  and  holy  men. 
To  him  the  very  arrangement  of  the  liturgical  year 
is  a  suggested  epic,  based  as  it  is  on  a  deep  parallel 
between  the  evolution  of  the  seasons  and  that  of  the 
Christian  soul  of  the  human  race." 


CHAPTER  XII 
TWILIGHT 

For  four  or  five  years  before  his  death  Father 
Tabb's  sight  was  growing  dimmer  and  for  two  years 
he  was  in  total  darkness  —  the  heaviest  possible  afflic 
tion  to  one  whose  eyes  were  accustomed  to  feast  on 
every  aspect  of  nature  and  whose  powers  of  obser 
vation  were  acute  and  well  trained. 

When  his  sight  was  so  impaired  as  to  make  it  im 
possible  for  him  to  fill  his  position  longer,  he  gave  this 
notice  to  the  press:  "My  sight  nearly  gone,  I  remain 
where  I  am  —  not  as  the  Faculty  would  generously 
have  me,  a  pensioner  of  the  college  —  but  paying  as 
long  as  I  am  able,  full  board.  It  is  only  to  keep  me 
from  seeking  some  asylum  that  the  Faculty  consents 
to  my  having  my  own  way  —  the  greatest  kindness  it 
can  do  me." 

An  editorial  in  a  Richmond,  Virginia,  paper  made 
the  following  comment  about  this  time:  "The  an 
nouncement  of  the  failing  eye-sight  of  the  gifted  poet- 
priest,  Rev.  John  Bannister  Tabb  of  St.  Charles  Col 
lege,  Howard  County,  Maryland,  is  received  with  a 
sense  of  personal  sorrow  not  only  by  those  honored 
by  the  poet 's  friendship,  but  by  many  others  to  whom 
the  distinguished  author  is  unknown  except  through 
the  inspiration  and  keen  pleasure  derived  from  the 

['39] 


FATHER  TABB 

spirituality,  the  aesthetic  beauty,  the  perfect  rhythm 
found  in  his  verse.  To  Homer  and  Milton  came  the 
affliction  of  loss  of  sight,  although  this  great  physical 
deprivation  seemed  but  to  unfold  to  them  the  'vision 
splendid'  of  the  soul.  To  no  poet  of  recent  years  are 
the  lyrics  of  Father  Tabb  more  closely  allied  than  to 
those  of  Philip  Bourke  Marston,  who,  almost  totally 
blind  from  youth,  was  yet  one  of  the  truest,  choicest 
poets  of  his  time.  To  both  Marston  and  Tabb  was 
given  almost  ethereal  delicacy  of  fancy  and  the  same 
unerring  sense  of  exquisite  beauty  of  the  simplest 
works  of  nature. 

"For  many  years  an  able  instructor  in  English 
Literature,  the  author  has  no  more  ardent  admirers 
than  the  students,  past  and  present,  of  St.  Charles 
College  —  those  who  have  been  privileged  to  enter  into 
a  fuller  appreciation  and  closer  communion  with 
master  minds  through  the  vivid  interpretation  of  their 
instructor.  The  inspired  lines  of  Shakespeare,  Tenny 
son,  Keats  and  Shelley  are  at  the  tongue's  end  of  this 
humble,  earnest  priest  and  it  is  a  consolation  to  his 
friends  to  know  that  in  the  twilight  of  dimmed  sight 
many  of  the  greatest  thoughts  of  the  greatest  minds 
will  bear  him  company. 

"To  the  imagination  of  the  dreamer  Father  Tabb 
adds  the  courage  of  the  soldier  and  the  Christian.  He 
enters  upon  a  period  of  earthly  trial  not  with  a  spirit 
of  vain  repining  but  of  hopeful  strength.  Fortified 
by  the  mental  resources  of  a  lifetime,  and  surrounded 
by  helpful  appreciation,  Father  Tabb's  inspiration  as 

[140] 


TWILIGHT 

a  poet  can  still  go  on.  His  vigor  of  mind  will  be  a 
constant  incentive  to  further  poetical  work,  and  al 
though  surrounded  by  the  shadows  of  twilight,  he  can 
still  say  in  the  words  of  the  Prophet  Zechariah  that 
'at  evening  time  there  shall  be  light.' 

This  prediction  was  more  fully  realized  than  anyone 
at  the  time  of  its  writing  could  have  imagined. 
Father  Tabb  retained  his  bright  cheerfulness  to  the 
end  —  no  one  shunned  or  pitied  him  because  of  his 
affliction  and  with  his  mind's  eye  he  continued  to  see 
the  beauties  of  nature  and  his  sunny  optimism  even 
led  him  to  make  light  of  what  to  another  would  have 
been  a  burden  almost  past  the  bearing. 

In  greeting,  an  old  friend  said  to  him  one  day  when 
his  sight  was  almost  entirely  gone:  "Well,  Johnny, 
how  are  you?"  "0,"  he  replied,  "this  blindness  is 
not  as  black  as  it 's  painted ! ' '  And  reference  has  al 
ready  been  made  to  his  humorous  request  to  Cardinal 
Gibbons  that  he  give  him  a  new  "See." 

His  loss  of  sight  came  just  at  the  time  when  the  in 
vention  of  the  aeroplane  was  attracting  the  attention 
of  the  world  and  when  the  achievements  of  the  Wright 
brothers  were  the  theme  of  greatest  interest.  Father 
Tabb  gave  the  following  limerick  to  the  public: 

There  once  were  two  brothers  named  Wright 

Who  went  up  in  aerial  flight; 

But  a  poet  I  know 

Who  much  higher  did  go, 

For  he  soared  until  "clean  out  of  sight!" 

[Mi] 


FATHER  TABB 

One  of  the  first  intimations  that  his  friends  outside 
the  college  walls  had  of  his  threatened  loss  of  sight 
was  the  publication,  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  of 

GOING  BLIND 

Back  to  the  primal  gloom 
Where  life  began, 
As  to  my  mother's  womb 
Must  I,  a  man, 

Return : 

Not  to  be  born  again, 
But  to  remain; 

And  in  the  School  of  Darkness  learn 
What  mean 

"The  things  unseen. " 

He  jested  at  misfortune  and  in  response  to  condo 
lences  sent  quips  which  made  smile  and  tear  spring 
together.  But  what  the  affliction  really  meant  to  him, 
despite  his  cheery  attitude,  the  deep  pathos  of  his  con 
dition  and  his  pitiable  suffering  and  deprivation  are 
shown  in 

FIAT  LUX 

"Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread, "  and  light: 
For  more  to  me,  0  Lord,  than  food,  is  sight : 
And  I  at  noon  have  been 


TWILIGHT 

In  twilight,  where  my  fellow-men  were  seen 
1 '  As  trees, ' '  that  walked  before  me.    E  'en  today 
From  time  to  time  there  falls  upon  my  way 
A  feather  of  the  darkness.     But  again 
It  passes ;  and  amid  the  falling  rain 
Of  tears,  I  lift,  0  Lord,  mine  eyes  to  Thee, 
For,  Lo  I  see! 

And  his  beautiful  resignation  is  set  forth  in  one  of 
his  last  poems : 

THE  SMITER 

They  bound  Thine  eyes,  and  questioned,  ' '  Tell  us  now 
Who  smote  Thee."    Thou  wast  silent.    When  today 
Mine  eyes  are  holden,  and  again  they  say 
1 '  Who  smote  thee  ? ' '    Lord,  I  tell  them  it  is  Thou ! 

Ten  of  these  songs  from  the  dark  he  left  us  —  pub 
lished  in  the  posthumous  volume  of  "Later  Poems" 
which  appeared  in  1910. 

In  his  days  of  darkness  one  great  solace  of  his  lone 
liness  was  the  gift  of  music  which  remained  to  him  to 
the  last,  and  he  would  often  spend  hours  at  a  time  in 
the  College  Chapel,  seated  at  the  great  organ,  "alone 
with  his  memories  and  his  melodies." 

Father  Tabb's  blindness  did  not  take  from  him  the 
privilege  of  celebrating  the  Mass  and  it  was  a  pathetic 
sight  to  see  a  man  who  had  always  been  so  active,  so 

[143] 


FATHER  TABB 

devoted  to  outdoor  life,  growing  more  feeble  as  the 
days  passed,  and  helpless  to  a  great  extent  —  throwing 
his  old-time  spiritual  vigor  into  the  service  so  dear  to 
his  heart. 

It  has  been  said  that  he  made  his  affliction  a  diadem 
upon  his  priestly  brow. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  END 

From  the  time  of  his  loss  of  sight  the  poet's  health 
had  been  gradually  declining  and  in  the  fall  of  1909, 
when  very  feeble,  he  became  the  prey  of  a  serious 
bronchial  trouble  and  no  hope  of  his  recovery  was 
entertained,  yet  his  death  came  as  a  decided  shock 
when  on  the  night  of  November  19th,  he  had  a  sudden 
sinking  spell  from  which  he  never  rallied  but  passed 
peacefully  into  the  long  sleep  "so  sweet  to  tired  mor 
tality." 

The  remains  of  the  poet  priest  lay  in  state  at  St. 
Charles  College;  the  students  asked  the  privilege  of 
standing  as  a  guard  of  honor  ab®ut  the  bier  of  their 
beloved  companion  and  instructor,  and  on  November 
21st  the  funeral  services  were  held  at  the  College,  after 
which  the  body  was  taken  to  Richmond,  Virginia,  and 
laid  to  rest  in  beautiful  old  Hollywood  Cemetery. 

The  funeral  sermon  at  St.  Charles  was  preached 
by  Rev.  D.  J.  Connor  of  Scranton,  Pennsylvania. 
Through  the  kindness  of  President  Dinneen  (of  St. 
Charles  College)  I  am  enabled  to  give  here  the  beauti 
ful  tribute  paid  to  the  poet-priest  by  his  gifted  pupil 
and  friend : 

' '  How  powerless  does  death  seem  in  a  case  like  this 
to  win  a  real  victory.  It  was  surely  no  violent  transi- 

[145] 


FATHER  TABB 

tion  by  which  the  soul  of  Father  Tabb  passed  from  the 
temporal  to  the  eternal.  As  an  exiled  spirit  he  seemed 
to  tread  the  rough  paths  of  earth,  where  most  of  us  are 
content  to  find  a  home.  It  was  never  more  than  the 
thinnest  veil  that  separated  him  from  the  invisible 
world,  and  hid  from  him  the  full  meaning  of  those 
intimations  from  beyond,  which  he  made  the  subject 
of  his  meditation  and  his  song.  All  nature  was  to  him 
an  apocalypse  —  a  partial  revelation  of  the  beauty 
that  is  eternal, 

'My  God  has  hid  Himself  from  me 
Behind  whatever  else  I  see,' 

he  said,  and  in  these  words  it  is  not  only  the  poet  that 
speaks  but  the  man  as  we  all  knew  him ;  and  now  by 
his  death  we  do  not  feel  that  a  life  has  been  rudely 
interrupted,  as  in  most  cases  we  involuntarily  do,  but 
that  rather  it  has  been  emancipated  and  intensified. 
The  world  of  spirit  which  was  as  vivid  to  him  as  the 
world  of  sense,  is  surely  no  strange  element  for  that 
ardent  soul,  which  used  material  things  not  as  realities 
but  as  shadows  and  symbols.  The  light  of  faith  which 
was  a  lamp  to  him  has  guided  him  safely  through  the 
darkness,  and  his  own  beautiful  words 

''The  beam 

Of  everlasting  morning  wakes  upon 
His  dazzled  gaze,  revealing  one  by  one 
His  visions  grown  immortal  in  the  gleam." 


THE  END 

' '  But  yet  Father  Tabb  's  death  is  an  occasion  of  more 
than  ordinary  sorrow.  In  him  the  literary  world  has 
lost  a  great  genius,  our  Alma  Mater  has  lost  its  chief 
ornament  and  we  have  lost  more  than  all  —  a  true 
friend.  As  to  the  value  to  be  attached  to  Father 
Tabb's  contributions  to  literature,  only  the  most  dis 
criminating  critics  have  as  yet  discovered  and 
ungrudgingly  allowed  him  the  place  he  is  destined  to 
occupy  among  his  contemporaries.  The  field  of  his  art 
was  a  limited  one,  his  muse  having  never  aspired  to 
anything  more  pretentious  than  the  lyric,  the  song 
that  is 

"Short  to  the  ear,  but  long 
To  love  and  memory." 

but  in  his  own  province  it  is  doubtful  if  he  has  ever 
been  surpassed.  His  work,  however,  was  absolutely 
devoid  of  that  garishness  and  boisterousness  which 
will  win  quick  applause. 

' '  The  noonday  never  knows, ' '  he  said 
"What  names  immortal  are." 

"Like  that  other  Catholic  poet,  Francis  Thompson, 
who  died  a  year  ago,  his  name  was  the  property  of 
the  few  who  were  able  to  discern  genius  when  it  comes 
unheralded,  and  as  in  his  case  the  world  will  no  doubt 
be  aroused  to  a  sense  of  its  loss  by  the  announcement 
of  his  death. 


FATHER  TABB 

"  'Tis  night  alone  that  shows 
How  star  surpasseth  star.'* 

"  Nature  endowed  him  abundantly  with  the  gifts 
which  make  the  poet.  He  was  possessed  first  of  all 
with  a  rare  faculty  of  intuition,  upon  which,  much 
more  than  upon  reasoning,  he  depended  as  a  guide,  not 
only  in  detecting  aesthetic  values,  but  also  in  judging 
the  characters  and  situations  of  everyday  life.  And 
well  he  might  for  it  was  well  nigh  infallible.  This 
keenness  of  perception  enabled  him  to  seize  those  more 
illusive  phases  of  beauty,  which  are  like  revelations  of 
our  hidden  selves,  that  only  the  true  poet  can  make 
known  to  us.  Then  the  exquisite  music  of  his  verse 
which  is  almost  suggestive  of  some  set  melody,  the 
sureness  and  felicity  of  his  expression,  the  purity  of 
his  language,  the  masculinity  of  his  thought,  the  utter 
artlessness,  if  I  may  say  so,  of  his  art  —  these  qualities 
constitute  his  unassailable  patent  of  nobility  in  the 
world  of  letters. 

"But  Father  Tabb  as  he  will  always  linger  in  our 
memory,  was  essentially  a  worshipper.  His  art  was 
not  an  end  but  a  means.  Poetry  was,  for  him,  not  a 
substitution  for  religion,  but  an  inspiration  that  made 
religion  the  more  necessary. 

''Although  he  worshipped  at  a  thousand  shrines  it 
was  not  the  God  of  Pantheism,  but  the  God  of  Faith, 
the  God  of  Revelation.  Child  of  a  generation  content 
with  the  worship  of  nature,  he  rose  above  the  limita 
tions  of  their  poetic  creed,  and  true  and  responsive  as 

[148] 


THE  END 

he  was  in  the  art  tendencies  of  his  day,  he  was  not  a 
man  to  rest  satisfied  with  tendencies  but  went  straight 
for  the  conclusion  towards  which  they  converged. 
Like  St.  Augustine  in  a  former  Age  his  soul  could 
never  be  contented  with  the  vague  mysticism  with 
which  literature  is  too  often  satisfied  to  rest  as  if 
there  were  no  higher  philosophy.  He  craved  for  per 
sonal  and  daily  intercourse  with  his  Maker  and 
Saviour.  He  found  a  strong  practical  Christianity 
the  fulfillment  of  these  aspirations,  which  it  is  one  of 
the  highest  charms  of  poetry  of  the  past  century  to 
express,  and  like  another  Augustine  he  could  say  to 
the  intellects  of  his  day,  who  made  their  religion 
consist  of  a  kind  of  romantic  but  interminable  and 
impractical  quest  of  the  Holy  Grail :  ' '  Quaerite  quod 
quaeritis.  Sed  ibi  non  est  ubi  quaeritis."  His  imag 
ination  could,  it  is  true,  detect  God's  dwelling  in  the 
light  of  setting  suns,  but  his  faith  found  a  more  real 
presence  in  the  light  of  the  sanctuary  lamp.  His 
religion  was  not  a  sentiment,  but  a  service.  It  found 
its  best  expression  not  in  beautiful  verse,  but  in  its 
heroic  Christian  Patience  —  his  touching  self-denial, 
his  absolute  and  unreserved  resignation  to  the  will  of 
God. 

"As  to  that  one  event  of  his  life,  which  meant  so 
much  to  him,  and  to  which  most  of  us  here  owe  the 
opportunity  of  knowing  Father  Tabb  at  all,  his  con 
version  to  the  Catholic  Church,  I  feel  utterly  at  a  loss 
to  speak.  No  one  who  has  not  himself  taken  the  step, 
can  tell  either  the  cost  or  the  gain.  Cost  him  it  did 


FATHER  TABS 

without  doubt.  Like  so  many  illustrious  converts  of 
the  last  century,  and  in  obedience  to  the  same  intel 
lectual  impulse,  Father  Tabb  unhesitatingly  left  com 
panionships  and  associations  from  which  one  of  his 
affectionate  nature  and  strong  attachments  must  have 
found  it  doubly  hard  to  sever,  and  sought  a  home  in 
the  midst  of  strangers  —  strangers  not  only  to  him, 
but  often  to  his  tastes  and  sentiments  and  ideas.  Yet 
no  one  can  say  that  he  did  not  find  what  he  sought. 
He  was  content  to  lose  his  life  but  we  are  all  witnesses 
of  how  abundantly  he  gained  life  by  the  sacrifices.  If 
any  one  ever  found  a  home  in  the  Church  Father 
Tabb  certainly  found  one.  Always  a  man  of  great 
spirituality,  of  deep  religious  earnestness,  of  strong 
faith  and  tender  piety,  he  saw  in  Catholicity  what 
his  soul  had  longed  for.  Man  was  there  treated  as  a 
supernatural  being.  Grace  had  its  regular  means  of 
operation  side  by  side  with  nature  in  a  visible  and 
imposing  dispensation  of  Providence,  that  seemed  to 
be  conducted  in  defiance  of  all  laws  of  history,  but 
yet  was  willing  to  have  its  claim  judged  by  the  strictest 
historical  canons.  The  great  truths  of  revelation  were 
treated  not  as  something  transcendental,  from  which 
the  human  reason  could  not  trust  itself  to  draw  con 
clusions,  but  as  matters  on  which  not  only  the  reason 
but  the  emotions  might  take  hold,  as  naturally  as  the 
child  loves  its  mother,  and  as  safely  as  a  friend  can 
put  confidence  in  a  friend.  Not  only  was  there  belief 
in  the  Real  Presence,  but  that  belief  used  the  same 
matter-of-fact  logic  which  we  exercise  in  everyday 

[ISO] 


THE  END 

affairs.  Catholics,  he  saw,  not  only  defended  the 
dogma  on  principle,  but  paid  visits  to  the  Blessed 
Sacrament.  They  not  only  believed  in  the  Com 
munion  of  Saints,  but  they  believed  so  genuinely,  so 
frankly,  as  to  ask  the  Saints  for  their  intercession 
with  God,  and  to  pray  for  the  souls  of  their  departed 
friends. 

"What  these  Catholic  devotions  became  to  Father 
Tabb  most  of  us  well  know,  and  those  of  us  who  did 
not  know,  knew  their  friend  only  partially.  He  was 
a  Catholic  to  his  heart's  core.  As  he  himself  expressed 
to  a  priest  only  a  few  weeks  since,  when  asked  the 
circumstance  of  his  conversion,  "I  was  always  a 
Catholic  —  born  a  Catholic.  Whenever  any  doctrine 
of  the  Church  was  spoken  of,  I  knew  it  was  true  as 
soon  as  I  heard  it.  I  would  have  been  a  member  of 
the  Church  before  I  was,  if  I  had  learned  what  the 
Catholic  doctrines  were,  and  had  known  that  they 
were  taught  and  practised  in  the  Catholic  Church. " 
When  at  last  he  did  believe,  he  believed  with  all  his 
strength  and  all  his  mind,  and  there  is  many  a  Catho 
lic  today  among  those  who  were  taught  their  religion 
at  their  mother's  knee,  for  whom  Christ's  presence  on 
the  altar,  Mary's  influence  and  authority  in  heaven  as 
the  Mother  of  Jesus,  the  duty  of  assisting  the  souls  of 
Purgatory,  took  on  a  new  meaning  after  they  had  met 
this  amiable  man  of  God,  this  gentle  yet  irresistible 
witness  to  the  unseen. 

* '  What  is  more  gratifying,  however,  for  us  to  recall 
today  as  we  stand  round  the  mortal  remains  of  our 

t'Si] 


FATHER  TABB 

friend,  is  not  what  he  got  from  religion,  but  what 
he  gave  in  return.  Christianity  is  beautiful  but  it  is 
austere.  The  shadow  of  Calvary  will  obstinately 
throw  its  shadow  over  the  happiness  of  every  Thabor. 
Human  life  is  hard  to  idealize.  Christianity  alone  has 
succeeded  in  doing  it,  and  she  has  done  it  not  by 
escaping  from  the  stern  facts  of  mortal  existence  or 
forgetting  them,  but  by  recognizing  and  embracing 
them  with  a  well-tempered  spirit.  ' '  Dispose  thyself  to 
patience  rather  than  to  consolation,"  says  the  Fol 
lowing  of  Christ,  ' '  and  to  carry  the  cross  rather  than 
to  gladness,"  and  it  is  the  only  philosophy  that  has 
stood  the  test  successfully.  The  world  is  full  of 
quixotic  plans  for  a  millennium,  and  they  would  all 
begin  by  changing  conditions.  The  Saints,  on  the  con 
trary,  ended  by  changing  conditions  about  them  but 
they  began  by  meeting  them,  by  bowing  to  them  as  the 
inscrutable  dispensations  of  an  All-Holy  Will,  that 
needs  not  our  genius  or  our  talent,  but  only  our 
obedience  and  our  docility,  to  accomplish  its  belated 
purpose  as  infallibly  on  earth  as  in  heaven. 

"Few  men  have  been  more  deeply  impressed  with 
the  reality  of  Divine  Providence  than  Father  Tabb, 
or  have  paid  it  a  more  sincere  or  more  genuine  homage 
by  their  lives.  The  presence  of  God  was  to  him  the 
most  luminous  of  truths.  The  will  of  God  was  the 
medium  through  which  he  looked  at  whatever  befell 
him,  and  the  thought  that  reconciled  him  to  all  the 
asperities  of  his  lot,  and  enabled  him  to  bear  them 


THE  END 

with  a  cheerfulness  and  patience  that  will  ever  be  a 
precious  memory  to  the  friends  that  witnessed  them. 
His  resignation  under  that  last  great  affliction  which 
darkened  his  declining  days  among  us  was  the  forti 
tude  of  perfect  Christian  faith.  "I  have  seen  Saint 
Paul  in  chains!"  was  the  exclamation  of  Ignatius' 
friends  after  visiting  him  in  his  prison  at  Salmanaca. 
It  was  also  my  sentiment  a  few  months  ago,  when  I 
came  to  St.  Charles  after  having  heard  of  Father 
Tabb's  total  and  irreparable  loss  of  eyesight.  In  reply 
to  my  inquiries,  he  answered  that  he  was  never  happier 
in  all  his  life.  Not  a  doubt  now  remained  in  his  mind 
of  what  God  wished  of  him,  'and,'  he  added,  'if  the 
Almighty  came  to  me  and  said:  'John  Tabb,  you  can 
have  your  eyesight  back  by  asking  for  it, '  I  would  not 
ask.  I  would  be  afraid  of  proving  unfaithful  to  re 
sponsibilities  of  which  I  might  not  be  fully  aware. 
Now  I  know  perfectly  what  is  God's  will  and  I  am 
resigned  to  it.' 

"I  have  said  that  Father  Tabb's  religion  consisted 
not  in  sentiment  but  in  service.  The  same  was  char 
acteristic  of  his  friendship.  He  considered  no  sac 
rifice  too  great,  no  demand  upon  his  time  or  his  means 
too  large,  no  personal  concern  or  disappointment  or 
aspiration  too  trivial,  no  necessities  of  sickness  too 
repulsive,  when  it  was  a  question  of  his  friends.  His 
loyalty  resembled  more  the  unselfishness  and  disinter 
estedness  of  a  woman's  devotion  than  any  quality  we 
are  accustomed  to  find  in  man's  love  for  man. 

['53] 


FATHER  TABB 

'If  my  grief  His  guerdon  be, 
My  dark  His  light, 
I  count  each  loss  felicity, 
And  bless  the  night.' 

was  the  deliberate  and  unexaggerated  expression  of 
the  affection  he  bestowed  on  those  he  loved. 

''One  word  more.  It  is  a  great  privilege  to  stand 
here  as  spokesman  for  Father  Tabb's  friends  on  this 
occasion  and  give  utterance  to  these  few  thoughts 
which  are  not  my  sentiments  only,  but  the  feelings,  I 
am  sure,  of  all  who  knew  him  well ;  and  I  wish  to  use 
it  for  the  one  purpose  of  asking  those  prayers  which 
we  owe  to  the  deceased  as  friend,  teacher,  and,  above 
all,  as  the  gentle  influence  that  entered  into  the  spring 
time  of  our  lives  like  a  benediction  from  heaven  and 
moulded  our  sentiments  and  characters  more  than  we 
were  aware.  Father  Tabb's  friendship  did  not  cease 
at  the  brink  of  the  grave  —  Death  but  gave  him  a 
fuller  opportunity  of  proving  its  steadfastness  and 
devotion.  One  of  the  greatest  consolations  of  his 
priesthood  was  the  power  it  gave  him  of  offering  the 
Holy  Sacrifice  for  his  departed  dear  ones.  And 
though  his  modesty  would  deprecate  every  other  ex 
pression,  to  which  I  have  given  expression,  this  one, 
I  know,  of  his  own  lips  would  utter  were  they  not  de 
prived  of  the  power :  '  Have  pity  upon  me  at  least  you, 
0  my  friends,  for  the  hand  of  the  Lord  has  touched 


[154] 


THE  END 

The  Richmond,  Virginia,  News-Leader  of  November 
23,  1909,  contained  the  following  account  of  the  fun 
eral  services  held  at  St.  Peter's  Church. 

"As  if  in  poetic  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  poet 
who  drew  from  her  the  inspiration  for  so  much  of  *  the 
good,  the  true  and  the  beautiful,'  Nature  wept  over 
the  bier  of  John  Bannister  Tabb  today.  The  blue  was 
veiled  by  a  cumbrous  grey  mist  that  darkened  the  day 
and  Heaven's  tears  fell  from  the  sombre-vaulted  skies 
upon  the  casket  as  the  body  of  the  poet-priest  was 
lowered  to  its  last  resting  place  in  Hollywood 
Cemetery. 

"The  funeral  of  Father  Tabb  took  place  from  St. 
Peter's  Church  at  ten  o'clock  this  morning.  Requiem 
High  Mass  was  sung,  the  celebrant  being  Rev.  Father 
J.  J.  Bowler.  The  Rev.  Father  De  Gryse  served  as 
deacon  and  the  Rev.  Father  Perrig  of  Fredericksburg 
as  sub-deacon. 

' '  Within  the  sanctuary,  flanked  by  lines  of  surpliced 
acolytes  who  sat  at  the  altar  rail,  were  the  Right 
Reverend  Augustus  Van  De  Vyver,  Bishop  of  Rich 
mond,  and  a  dozen  priests  from  out-of-town  parishes 
of  this  diocese. 

'  *  The  ceremonies  in  the  Church  —  the  old  Cathedral 
where  Father  Tabb  as  a  theological  student,  when  he 
taught  the  pupils  of  the  parish  school  of  St.  Peter's 
a  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  served  at  the  Mass  —  were 
beautiful,  impressive  and  edifying. 

"In  the  large  assemblage  that  occupied  the  pews 
were  former  pupils  of  Father  Tabb.  There  were  pres- 

[155] 


FATHER  TABB 

ent,  too,  many  of  the  parishioners  who  knew  and  loved 
the  brilliant  Tabb  in  his  student  days:  there  were 
among  the  score  of  priests  in  the  Church  seated  in  the 
sanctuary  probably  a  dozen  who  were  his  classmates 
at  St.  Charles  College,  where  he  read  philosophy  and 
theology  and  whence  he  was  graduated  into  the 
priesthood  of  the  faith  of  his  adoption,  for  Father 
Tabb  was  a  convert  of  Catholicism  in  his  early  youth. 
There  were  among  those  who  mourned  at  the  bier 
others  who  loved  and  admired  him,  Confederate 
veterans  who  knew  him  as  a  sailor  lad  when  he  re 
sponded  to  the  first  call  for  volunteers  in  'the  days 
that  tried  men 's  souls '  and  went  forth  to  do  battle  for 
the  Southland  he  loved  so  well. 

"The  funeral  sermon  was  preached  by  the  Rever 
end  Dr.  Joseph  Magri  of  St.  Peter's.  It  was  the 
touching  tribute  of  one  whose  intimate  association 
with  Father  Tabb  extended  through  a  long  term  of 
years.  Dr.  Magri  made  an  affecting  reference  at  the 
opening  of  his  panegyric  to  the  circumstance  that  he 
stood  in  the  presence  of  five  of  the  preceptors  of  his 
student  days  at  St.  Charles  College,  Ellicott  City,  Md. 
But  from  one  the  spirit  had  fled. 

' '  He  reviewed  briefly  the  distinguished  career  of  the 
gifted  Father  Tabb,  discussed  the  great  moral  in 
fluence  of  the  life  and  works  of  the  priest,  and 
recounting  his  varied  accomplishments,  predicted  im 
mortality  for  the  poems  that  have  made  the  name  of 
John  B.  Tabb  famous  in  the  world  of  literature. 

1 '  Dr.  Magri 's  sermon  was  an  able  and  scholarly  dis- 


THE  END 

course,  tenderly  affecting  and  deeply  touching  at 
times.  He  paid  tribute  to  Father  Tabb  the  philos 
opher,  the  moralist,  the  theologian,  and  the  poet,  but 
placed  above  all  these  John  Bannister  Tabb,  the  priest 
of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 

"While  sombre  vested  priests  officiated  at  the  sac 
rifice  of  the  Mass,  offered  for  the  repose  of  the  soul 
of  the  brilliant  Father  Tabb,  a  male  choir  intoned  the 
Gregorian  Requiem  Chant.  Following  the  obsequies 
in  the  Church,  a  brief  service  was  held  at  the  grave. " 

Attending  the  services  in  the  Church  were  delegates 
from  the  Knights  of  Columbus,  McGill  Catholic 
Union,  Confederate  Memorial  Literary  Society, 
Daughters  of  the  Confederacy,  R.  E.  Lee  Camp  of 
Confederate  Veterans,  Hollywood  Memorial  Associa 
tion,  Confederate  Home  for  Women,  Virginia  State 
Library,  Virginia  Historical  Society,  and  the  press 
of  Richmond. 

The  pall-bearers  were :  Active — Dr.  Lewis  H.  Tay 
lor,  Gordon  Blair,  Llewellyn  McVeigh,  John  C. 
Hagan,  James  Creamer,  John  Chaffin,  Clayton  Tor- 
rence,  and  P.  H.  Donahoe. 

Honorary — Governor  Claude  A.  Swanson,  Major 
William  A.  Anderson,  Colonel  Morton  Maryre,  Dr. 
George  Ben  Johnston,  Dr.  Armistead  Taylor,  J. 
Stewart  Bryan,  Alfred  B.  Williams,  Dr.  Daniel  Cole- 
man,  R.  Travers  Daniel,  and  James  B.  Harvie. 

The  poet  was  laid  to  rest  in  the  section  belonging  to 
his  friend  Mr.  Gordon  Blair  —  it  was  his  wish  and 
request  that  he  be  allowed  to  lie  in  this  beautiful 


FATHER  TABB 

Southern  Cemetery.  And  there  he  sleeps,  one  of  the 
many  great  men  of  the  old  Commonwealth,  and  around 
his  lowly  bed  a  loving  hand  has  planted  the  flowers 
mentioned  in  his  poems  —  there  may  be  found  the 
lily  and  the  rose,  the  violet  and  jessamine  and  their 
humbler  sisters  of  the  wildwood  so  dear  to  the  poet's 
heart,  and  above  him  the  silent  stars  keep  watch. 

IN  AETERNUM 

If  Life  and  Death  be  things  that  seem, 
If  Death  be  sleep,  and  Life  a  dream, 
May  not  the  everlasting  sleep 
The  dream  of  Life  eternal  keep? 

Father  Tabb  was  a  faithful  priest,  a  gifted  teacher, 
an  earnest  patriot,  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  a 
brilliant  writer,  and  a  charming  friend. 

When  suffering  and  trouble  came  upon  him,  he  bore 
them  with  manly  and  Christian  fortitude  and  softened 
them  with  his  own  quaint  philosophy.  His  intimacies 
and  his  friendship  knew  no  lines  —  he  loved  man 
kind.  He  had  the  quick  sympathies  and  child-heart  of 
Stevenson  and  Eugene  Field  and  was  known  far  and 
wide,  not  as  the  Reverend  John  Bannister  Tabb,  M.  A., 
but  by  the  homelier  and  more  loving  title  of  ''Father 
Tabb/' 

And  as  his  sympathies  and  his  friendships  were  re 
gardless  of  beliefs  and  forms  and  opinions,  so  the  sor 
row  for  his  death  and  the  loving  reverence  for  his 
memory  are  universal. 


POEMS  OF  FATHER  TABS 

QUOTED 

Index  of  Titles 

Against  the  Sky  .... 

.  112 

All  in  All      .         . 

.  114 

Alter  Ego 

.  108 

Alter   Idem  

.     50 

Amid  the  Roses      .... 

.     60 

Angel's  Christmas  Quest,  The 

.  131 

Argonauts,  The      .... 

.  133 

Assumption,  The  .         .        ... 

.  135 

At  Keat's  Grave  .        .        .        . 

.     33 

At  Lanier  's  Grave  .... 

.     71 

At  the  Manger      .... 

.  128 

Ave:  Sidney  Lanier 

.     68 

Babe  Niva  The 

.     64 

Baby      

.     65 

Bargains       

.  117 

Beyond  

.    96 

Bicycles!    Trycycles!    . 

.     60 

Bluebird,   The       .... 

.     58 

Bunch  of  Roses,  A  . 

.     65 

Chanticleer    

.  117 

Childhood      

.  105 

Chord,  The    

.  104 

Christmas  Babe.  The 

.  129 

[16!] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 

Christmas  Chime,  A 132 

Christmas  Cradle,  A 129 

Compensation 104 

Confided 90 

Cowslip,  The 7 

Crucifix,  The 134 

Dandelion,  The 82 

Dayspring,    The 103 

Dear  Cardinal  Gibbons 46 

Deep  Unto  Deep 89 

Deprecation 95 

Deus  Absconditus 78 

Dial,  The 110 

Discrepancy 108 

Dusk 96 

Easter 134 

Easter  Flowers 133 

Easter  Lilies 134 

End  of  It,  The 62 

Evolution 76 

Excluded 83 

Expected  of  Nations,  The 129 

Fern  Song 43 

Fiat  Lux 142 

Finis 109 

Foot-Soldiers 63 

For  the  Rain  it  Raineth  Every  Day      .        .        .108 

[162] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 

Fraternity m 

Frog-Making .61 

Giulio 93 

Gloria  in  Excelsis 132 

Going  Blind 142 

Goldenrod 74 

Half-Ring  Moon,  The 100 

High  and  Low 60 

High  Flyers 141 

His  Mission  . 81 

Ideals 117 

Idolater,  An 64 

In  Absence 116 

In  Aeternum 158 

Indian  Summer 107 

Indian  Summer 115 

Intimations 101 

In  Touch 70 

Keats 35 

Keats-Sappho 36 

Killdee 106 

Lake,  The 41 

Lamb-Child,  The 131 

Lament,  A 62 

Lanier's  Flute 18 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 

Legacy,  A .    59 

Light  of  Bethlehem,  The 130 

Limitations 81 

Loss 109 

Lost  Anchor,  The 15 

Love's  Hybla 69 

Mammy 8 

Matins 97 

Mistletoe 130 

Moments 109 

Morning  and  Night  Bloom 110 

My  Photograph 102 

My  Secret 79 

My  Star 69 

New- Year  Babe,  The 135 

Off  San  Salvador 15 

Old  Year's  Blessing,  The 110 

On  Cover  of  John  B.  Tabb's  Late  London  Volume     37 
On  Lanier's  Poems      ......     70 

On  Fiftieth  Anniversary  of  Poe's  Death    .        .     84 
Out  of  Bounds 128 

Pains-Taking 63 

Paschal  Moon,  The 136 

Phantoms 77 

Phonograph,  A 107 

Photographed 103 

Plaint  of  the  Rose,  The 106 

[164] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 

Poe 33 

Poe-Chopin 35 

Poe 's  Critics 36 

Poetry 91 

Prayer  in  Darkness,  A 99 

Prejudice 108 

Rainpool,  The 117 

Reaper,  The 57 

Recognition  .                 102 

Regrets,  To  Father  Mackin 45 

Release 115 

Ring,  The      . 99 

Robin 71 

Rubric,  A 115 

Sap  108 

Security      .  114 

Seed,  The Ill 

Shadow,  The 72 

Shelley 34 

Sigh  of  the  Sea,  A 112 

Silence /     .-       .        .116 

Sisters,  The .         .         .103 

Sleeping  Beauty,  The  .        .        .        .        .        .80 

Smiter,  The 143 

Somewhere 55 

Spy,  The  62 

Stranger,  The  106 

[165] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 

Tax  Gatherer,  The 59 

This  is  the  Catholic  Priest 47 

Time-Brood,  The 63 

To  a  Blind  Babe,  Sleeping 114 

To  a  Songster 87 

To  a  Wood-Robin .82 

To  a  Wood-Violet 116 

To  Death 75 

To   Jinny  8 

To  Mr.  Andrew  Lang 37 

To  Shelley  ...  .        .     34 

To  Sidney  Lanier          .        .  .        .        .70 

To  the  Summer  Wind 105 

Tryst,    The 61 

Trysting  Place,  A 97 

United  ....  •  -80 

Virginian  at  the  Hot  Springs,  A  . 

White  Jessamine,  The    ....  .100 

Winter  Trees -118 

Woman 83 

Wood-Grain  ....  .        .     91 

Young  Tenor,  The 92 


[166] 


POEMS  OF  FATHER  TABB  QUOTED  IN 
THIS  VOLUME 

Index  of  First  Lanes 

A  boot  and  a  shoe  and  a  slipper 60 

A  certain  tyrant,  to  disgrace 36 

A  crowing,  cuddling  little  babe  was  he 117 

A  dreamer  in  the  dark,  I  grow 110 

A  gleam  of  heaven,  the  passion  of  a  star 91 

Ah,  sweet  it  was  to  feel  the  strain 15 

A  leaf  may  hide  the  largest  star 108 

A  little  Boy  of  Heavenly  birth 128 

All  that  thou  art  not  makes  not  up  the  sum 116 

Alone  I  am,  but  lonelier 96 

And,  pray,  who  are  you  ? 59 

Another  lamb,  0  Lamb  of  God,  behold 90 

Are  thy  dreams  dark  ?    Or  is  the  light 114 

Are  ye  the  ghosts  of  fallen  leaves  ? 77 

Art  thou  the  selfsame  wind  that  blew  ? 105 

A  sea  wherein  the  rivers  of  all  sound 116 

As  Israel  in  days  of  old 74 

As  stars  amid  the  darkness  seen 97 

A  star  and  a  rosebud  white 110 

At  Christmas  time  from  clime  to  clime 132 

At  Shelley's  birth   34 

At  twilight  on  the  open  sea   102 

A  whole-tail  dog  and  a  half-tail  dog 62 

Ay,  every  day  the  rain  doth  fall 108 

[169] 


INDEX  OF  FIEST  LINES 

Baby  in  her  slumber  smiling 65 

Back  to  the  primal  gloom 142 

Bearing  a  life  unseen HI 

Beneath,  above  me,  or  below 81 

Bicycles !    Tricycles !    Nay,  to  shun  laughter  ...  60 

Come  to  me,  Robin,  The  daylight  is  dying 71 

Could  Day  demand  a  gift  of  Night 117 

Dance  to  the  beat  of  the  rain,  little  fern 43 

Day  after  day  the  spear  of  morning  bright 134 

Dead  fifty  years  1    Not  so 84 

Dear  Cardinal  Gibbons 46 

Do  you  remember,  little  Cloud 59 

Ere  Time's  horizon  line  was  set 68 

* '  Father  I "    The  trembling  voice  betrayed 93 

For  one  extinguished  light 109 

For  years,  an  ever-shifting  shade 103 

' '  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread, ' '  and  light  . .  142 

Hark !    What  his  f ellow-warbkrs  heard 107 

He  entered ;  but  the  mask  he  wore 106 

Here  buried  side  by  side  80 

His  eyes  are  dim  37 

Hold  the  trinket  near  thine  eye 99 

How  many  an  acorn  falls  to  die 104 

How  slight  soe'er  the  motion  be 70 

[170] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

I  am  a  lonely  woodland  lake 41 

I  am  too  small  for  winds  to  mar 117 

' '  I  feel  the  flowers  growing  over  me '  * 33 

If  Life  and  Death  be  things  that  seem 158 

I  knew  she  lay  above  me 100 

I  knew  the  flowers  had  dreamed  of  you 101 

I  know  not  but  in  every  leaf  Ill 

I  love  her  countenance  whereon 8 

In  this  narrow  cloister  bound 104 

In  this  secluded  shrine  116 

Into  the  charnel  hall  of  fame 83 

I  stand  beneath  the  native  tree 71 

It  brings  my  mother  back  to  me 7 

It  lay  to  westward,  as  of  old 15 

I  woke :  the  harboured  melody 92 

I  wonder  how  the  Mother-Hour  .  63 


Killdee !    Killdee ;    Far  o'er  the  lea 106 

Let  my  heart  the  cradle  be 129 

Like  a  meteor,  large  and  bright 134 

Like  champions  of  old 118 

Like  manna,  mute  as  snow 109 

Like  Simeon  of  old  110 

Lo,  where  the  blossoming  woodland  wakes 82 

Methinks,  when  first  the  nightingale 36 

My  God  has  hid  Himself  from  me  146 

[-71] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

My  thoughts  fly  to  thee,  as  the  bees 69 

My  Sister  Sunshine  smiled  on  me 102 

Niva,  child  of  innocence 64 

No  more  the  battle  or  the  chase 115 

Not  Bethlehem  nor  Nazareth 135 

Now,  I  listen  in  my  grave 95 

Nurtured  upon  my  Mother's  knee   89 

0  Lady  Cloud,  why  are  you  weeping 62 

0  'er  each  the  soul  of  Beauty  flung 35 

Old  Sorrow  I  shall  meet  again 105 

0  little  bird,  I'd  be 87 

One  day  with  feet  upon  the  ground 48 

One  dream  the  bird  and  blossom  dreamed 108 

One  heaven  above   114 

0  Shadow,  in  thy  fleeting  form  I  see  72 

0  to  be  with  thee,  sinking  to  thy  rest 109 

Out  of  the  dusk  a  shadow 76 

Over  the  sea,  over  the  sea 100 

0  why  should  Old  Lang  Sign 37 

Potato  was  deep  in  the  dark  under  ground 61 

Sad  Spirit,  swathed  in  brief  mortality 33 

Said  Frog  Papa  to  Frog  Mama 61 

Saint  Peter  is  the  corner-stone 45 

Said  the  budding  rose,  "All  night  .  .  " 106 

See,  where  the  foliage  fronts  the  sky 112 

Shall  she  come  down  and  on  our  level  stand  1  . .  83 

[172] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

Shelley,  the  ceaseless  music  of  thy  soul 34 

Sighed  the  languid  Moon  to  the  Morning  Star  ...  62 

Since  that  the  dewdrop  holds  the  star 69 

Snow !     Snow !     Snow !   70 

So  long  I  am  a  prisoner 115 

Somewhere  beneath  the  blinding  snows 55 

So  small  that  lesser  lowliness  129 

So  sweet  to  tired  mortality  the  night 75 

Still  sing  the  morning  stars  remote 97 

Strong  as  the  sea  and  silent  as  the  grave 108 

Suspended  o'er  Geometry 38 

Take  pains,  growled  the  tooth  to  the  dentist  ....  63 

Tell  me  whither,  Maiden  June 57 

The  aster  puts  its  purple  on 115 

The  Baby  has  no  skies 64 

The  day  is  nearer  unto  night 99 

The  dewdrop  holds  the  heaven  above 70 

The  noonday  smiles  to  hear 114 

There  once  were  two  brothers  named  Wright  ....  141 

There  was  laughter  'mid  the  roses 60 

The  River  to  the  Sea 96 

The  rosy  mouth  and  rosy  toe 65 

The  sculptor  in  the  marble  found 80 

The  waves  forever  move    103 

They  bound  Thine  eyes  and  questioned :  ' '  Tell  us 

now" 143 

This  is  the  Catholic  priest 47 

This  is  the  way  that  the  sap-river  ran 91 

Tho '  long  in  wintry  sleep  ye  lay 134 

[-73] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

Thou  art  to  me  as  is  the  sea 108 

Thy  face  is  whitened  with  remembered  woe 136 

'Tis  all  the  way  to  Toe  town 63 

'Tis  Christmas  night,  again   132 

'Tis  Christmas  night !    The  snow 130 

Tis  not  what  I  am  fain  to  hide 79 

'Tis  said,  in  death  upon  the  face 107 

'Tis  what  thou  wast,  not  what  thou  art 50 

To  Bethlehem !     To  Bethlehem !   133 

To  her,  0  tenderness  Divine   9 

To  the  cradle-bough  of  a  naked  tree 130 

Two  together,  Babe  and  Year 135 

'Twas  not  for  gain  of  glittering  gold  he  trod  ....     81 

Upon  thy  tomb  'tis  graven,  *  '  Here  lies  one 35 

We  are  His  witnesses !    Out  of  the  dim 133 

We  've  come  to  give  you  Liberty 85 

What  hand  with  spear  of  light 103 

What  have  you  in  your  basket  ? 117 

When  Christ  the  Babe  was  born 131 

When  first  her  Christmas  watch  to  keep 128 

When  God  had  made  a  host  of  them 58 

When  palsied  at  the  pool  of  Thought 18 

Where  have  ye  laid  my  Lord  ? 131 

Where  limpid  waters  lie  between 89 

While  Shepherd  Stars  their  nightly  vigil  keep  . . .  129 

"Why  is  it"  once  the  Ocean  asked 112 

With  locks  of  gold  today  82 


[174] 


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